No Ser, but a Master
by Ladiladida
Summary: Sandor Clegane was no Ser, he was only the Hound, that is what he knew to be true. Yet what if one night he were to become a master? Rated M for later chapters SC/OFC. Attempting to avoid fluffiness at all costs.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN. Sorry I originally had a dumb moment and uploaded this onto my old account I no longer use. I have reuploaded on this one now so apologies for any confusion. Hope you enjoy, I am merely toying with the great character owned by George RR Martin. Please review if you can.**_

The night sometimes seemed the darkest place to find himself, he hated the day, the feel of the heat strong on his face. It reminded him of that time, the time that decided how he would always be. But the night, he liked that, but not ones that were too quiet, for quieter moments brought back too many memories. Sandor flexed his arm, it was stiff from wielding weapons in battle, such a strong, murderous arm even need rest sometimes. He sat by the dead fire, its embers emitting their final wisps of black smoke into the air and he contemplated. His mind wandered to Sansa and how she may be fairing, he had heard all that had befallen her brother Robb, these were bloody days indeed.

To ponder too long on not blood thirsty matters angered him for he did not know how to control or process compunctions that stemmed from them. To take a life was easier than to live one, to be a weapon was the only way to be. He rose from the fire, swearing to himself and determined to leave the confines and venture out into the crisp night air. He did so and the sky above him revealed its cold, glittering stars and the lonesome face of the moon, her shining disc snow white tonight rather than silver. The wind blew harsh on his cheek for a moment, picking up in drafts then offering another in respite. Sandor walked a little, his weapon by his side for a fool only ever walked unguarded. His huge frame did not feel the chill at first but soon it crept beneath his armour and scratched at his skin. It was a cool night indeed.

The mistress moon looked harsh upon him; she seemed disapproving tonight, taunting his barbarity and solitude. All around him were his familiars, Joffrey remained encased safely not far from where he walked and for that to remain he would not stray far. He looked up at the moon, growing resentful at her judgemental look and he wanted to spit up at her but such actions he knew were useless. His ears pricked up at the sound of a group of people heading in his direction, ever cautious he touched the handle of his weapon, ready to unleash deadly force in an instant. In truth he almost craved it, it was familiar and in a way, it was home.

Sandor waited and to be sure two men walked quickly and behind them were three women seemingly lead by rope pulled by the leaders of the group. Stepping forward he blocked their path and demanded their intent. One man held a torch and the light illuminated both Sandor's true face to their scrutiny and theirs to his. He observed the men were fairly well dressed, though slightly dishevelled from travelling but the women behind were in a somewhat worse state. Two were about his age, their hair slightly matted but forcibly plaited to the side of their faces. The other was much different, younger, her skin fairer and with large eyes shining a bright violet in the light of the flame. Her hair was half bundled onto the back of her head, whilst the rest flowed past her shoulders in deep scarlet waves. They all looked afraid, terrified and became more so when they saw Sandor's true appearance. The men were also hesitant but guessing their business, Sandor was unsurprised by their next words.

"We've these fine females for sale, all healthy, very obliging."

"They look unharmed." Sandor said, yanking the torch from the man and inspecting the women closer, the youngest did not back away, instead she bore a glassy expression and remained. The other two started as he neared them, one cried a little and this prompted the second man to pull hard on her roped making her cry all the more.

"You will find them all most obliging, most pleasing." The first man said in a syrupy tone that immediately made Sandor want to slice the lips clean off his face and yank out his tongue.

"These do not interest me though other men here may well." Sandor said gruffly but gesturing to the youngest he said. "I will have her."

The young woman's eyes focused on him now and he saw they were heavy and tired, examining her wrists he saw they were deeply chaffed from the rope.

"Very well, for what price."

Sandor palmed a few coins to the man and the rope tethering the young woman was handed to him. The first man with foul breath edged close to him and he whispered hoarsely.

"Here name is Andrein, she is barely touched… only Evestus here has had the pleasure, we wanted to keep her clean but she needed to know the ropes."

Without another word Sandor unleashed his blade and soon both men lay bloodied and slain on the floor with one stroke each. The older two women screamed in terror as their leashes were dropped. Sandor lunged to grip them and yanked the hysterical women to him but before he could act in anyway a hand rested on his arm. Out of reflex he pushed against it and soon saw Andrein fall to the floor and cry in pain. He had not realised how hard he had thrown her from him, she clearly wanted to cry but she bit down hard on her lip instead.

"Why do you not cry?" He asked harshly yet inside a part of him felt mortified.

"She has been taught not too." One of the other women answered shakily. Sandor let go of their binding ropes and brusquely told them to go. They hurried away little caring for the fate of their companion, she instead remained obediently silent, her lip bleeding from her attempt to stall her tears.

"You do not rise Andrein?" He asked sternly.

"I have not been bid." She stammered, her fear glowing in the torchlight bringing colour to her cheeks. Sandor for a moment grew impatient with her gauche actions but he decided to take a moment to pity her situation.

"Rise."

She did so but he saw that she clutched her arm protectively, her injury clearly hurt her. Andrein stood obediently awaiting his next instruction, not even taking the opportunity to wipe or lick away the trickle of blood running down her chin. Sandor disliked its appearance and bringing his rough hand he wiped it away in a graceless action. This girl looked fragile and he wasn't sure how to behave, she was not quite a young, regal innocent like Sansa, he had paid for her after all. He ignored the fact that he had both injured her and butchered her masters before her eyes and instead said.

"You will accompany me to my quarters, I will not hurt you but I have bought you for a purpose. Do you understand?"

"Yes." She answered normally, as though their situation was not that of slave and master but instead equals in all respects. He respected that she saw no benefit in being proud or teary, she was obviously a survivor. Dropping the torch to the floor he took advantage of the light before it expired. Taking her injured arm he felt her temporarily tense and a flash of pain fell across her face. He ran his other hand up it sensing no dislocation or breakage, he was relieved.

"Fire and shelter are what I can offer you, you need to sleep. You are no use to me faint from exhaustion."

"I am not faint sir, do with me as you please, you paid blood and coin for me."

"It is not my preference tonight Andrein, there's no more to be said." They looked at one another for a moment, her tired beauty burning strong despite the torchlight extinguishing. He untied her hands and saw deep, angry marks from her bindings, no woman deserved to be bound so. "Follow."

Andrein did as she was bid and Sandor led her to his quarters. She stood in the middle of his room as he stoked the fire and had it blooming again.

"Sit." He commanded gently and she did so, the embers allowing her cherry threads to gleam beautifully. "Unpin your hair and sleep."

Andrein acquiesced and the waves tumbled passed her shoulders like a shock of the fire it reflected and she gave her head a small shake. Sandor watched as she laid herself down on the animal skin she rested on and despite her obvious reservations she faced away from him towards the fire. This did not surprise Sandor for who would willingly look upon his face by choice, even with their eyes closed? He sat a while and drained a cup several times, all the while watching her sleep peacefully on. The envy in his bones almost reached out to her, he coveted her ability to sleep soundly. Yet she should sleep well tonight, for her duties would soon come tomorrow. Sandor would not be cruel but their situation could not ever be kind.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A.N Hello! I am new to the GOT universe so you please bear with me, I started writing this fic for a friend and thought I may as well put it up here in case it would interest anyone else. Please review if you can. I am eager for this to remain as in character as possible because… well Sandor is already great as he is. Enjoy!**_

Sandor stood at the opening of his lodgings looking out at the rain falling from the night sky. The wind blew droplets onto his face and cooled his skin. He heard movement behind him and he listened as Andrein moved from the bed towards the hearth, stoking the fire.

"Leave it." He commanded quietly, the sound ceased.

"I am cold." She replied.

"Then return to bed."

He listened as she returned to the bed they had both just left, the sound of the rain increased to a heavy thudding sound. As he looked out he contemplated the long term prospect of keeping her. Having just sampled her for the first time he realised what her captors had said were true, she was no virgin but nor was she familiar with much at all. All the while she had watched him; he was both happy and displeased with this. Part of him wished she had closed her eyes for he did not like them resting so long on his disfigurement, yet equally he revelled that she was not wholly repulsed.

"I thought you'd be crueller." She spoke freely, he turned his head slightly seeing her sat up on the bed wrapped in a large fur. "It seems I do not know enough yet."

"You know nothing." He replied, his meaning double. He walked towards the bed, reaching out and twisting a lock of hair round his finger. "You don't need anything to catch an eye that's certain. Strange that I was the one to buy you."

"You'll pass me on soon enough, you'll tire of me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Men do that when you know enough…" She explained but then she stopped, chewing on her lower lip and dropping her gaze from his.

"Some men yes, others like those that know plenty. Is that whom you imagine I'll pass you onto? Am I to be some tutor to you?" He laughed letting go of the tendril. Instead he tilted her chin upwards with his hand. "I've bound us together for as long as I see fit. Don't try and predict me, you shan't manage it."

"Would you rather I did not talk?" Andrein asked.

"Speak as you please."

"I do not need to, return to bed I shall try to please you."

"I am pleased, talk if you wish but do not chatter on like that. I do not care for it."

"Thank you."

"What for?" He laughed, finding her quizzical and odd.

"You have given me a boundary, I am not keen to be beaten or worse so I am grateful that you tell me what you do not like."

Her large eyes held fear in them but she did not let it overcome her features. She was showing him the deference required of a master and that whilst she would not plead for herself, she fully respected he could terrorise her if he chose. Sandor respected the fear in those eyes.

"May I ask something?" She said, he nodded as he moved away from her. He sought an apple and tossed it onto the bed near her before fetching another for himself. Andrein watched him take a large bite before she continued. "Do you intend to offer me to others at times?"

"I have not considered it." He answered, though inside he knew he would not. "As I said, I shall not subject you to brutality."

"Those women I travelled with were sick from men."

"You will be jeered for lying with the Hound." He explained, swivelling the apple in his hand before taking another bite. Andrein took her own in both hands, she noticed a small bruise on its skin, otherwise it was perfect. It had been a while since she'd eaten something so fresh.

"They are only words and are not at my expense." She replied. "Thank you for the apple."

"Women that lie with lots of men tend to get sick, like anything heavily laboured it wears down eventually."

Sandor expected Andrein to take this opportunity to mention his scarring, he laid it open to her purposefully. He wanted her to show that he disgusted her physically then at least he could relax in the truth of it. But she did not take the bait, instead she looked down at her own body.

"I am merely meat, I will spoil one day."

"I wish you to take care to keep yourself presentable, you are pleasing to look at and when I return it aids my desire. Wash everyday including your hair, if you're concerned about your safety I will accompany you."

"Rather a burden for you."

"Fuck the burden when there's pleasure to be had."

Andrein took a bite of the apple then gestured it to him.

"Would you like this, even though someone has already taken a bite?"

Sandor rose and came towards her again, taking the apple from her hand he bit a large chunk from it then threw it aside. Crunching it between his teeth he watched her, she kept his gaze though her eyes did not look defiant. She was merely making a play for truth. He pulled the fur from around her as he continued to chew and pushed her with gentle force back onto the bed. She was naked and she did not cover herself though that fear was evident. For a while he looked over her form as he had done when he made her take her shift off in front of him only a few hours earlier.

The curves of her body were present but not overly voluptuous, whether they would grow in time if he fed her well he was unsure. He liked her breasts and her skin was smooth and seemingly untarnished. He moved to the bed and laid down, neither of them had paid attention to each other's nakedness till now. Sandor did not know what she thought of the rest of his body, if she thought of it at all. Lying on his back he took hold of her, placing her on his waist so her legs were either side. Andrein watched him for any instruction he gave, his hands stayed on her hips, rough skin against smooth but he did not move them. He looked up at her, those violet eyes waiting, the mouth slightly parted. She did not tremble, she did not speak, she just waited as though she had known the ropes for years. But yet there was an innocence in her look too.

Her long wavy hair fell past her shoulders, its deep ruby shades a rare thing to behold. Her face was set in high cheekbones and she had a full, rosy mouth.

"Do something with your hair?" He demanded. "Run your fingers through it or twist it."

Andrein took several tendrils and started to weave it into a type of plait similar to fishscales, he watched as she dexterously laced the threads together, almost hypnotised by the sight. She tipped the remaining thick locks over her left shoulder and slowly ran her fingers from root to tip. This went on for a seemingly endless amount of time but Sandor seemed happy to watch her, he found this natural act quite desirable.

She seemed to become engrossed in what she was doing and when plaiting another few threads she started to hum quietly to herself. It was only after several seconds she realised what she was doing and she jolted in shock. Instinctively Sandor's hand gripped her hipbones a little tighter and she looked down at him with an apologetic look.

"Continue."

"Should you like to touch it?" She asked. Sandor had not contemplated this but he nodded. Andrein tipped her upper body forward and in doing so she edged herself back a little onto Sandor's groin, she felt him stir further beneath her as he had been doing since she began playing with her hair. His hands left her hip bones as he exhaled thickly, they moved up to her hair and repeated the similar actions of hers though with less grace. After a minute or so his hands returned to her hipbones and Andrein seated herself upright again, inadvertently tossing her hair gently behind her shoulders. The movement once again caused her to grind lightly against Sandor and he let out a low, guttural moan.

His hands edged up her sides and moved to the swell of her breasts and he cupped them as though curious of their feel rather than groping with desire. He was gentle, not out of kindness but she was still new to him and she was his, he was bound to want to inspect every inch of her closely. She lent in to his touch, their eyes met. Sandor contemplated for a moment as they looked at one another, then in a powerful movement he pushed her onto her back and claimed what was his.


	3. Chapter 3

Andrein had struggled plaiting her long wet locks for the last half hour but at last she succeeded in fixing the bottom. She felt by the time her master would arrive home she would have herself in order as he requested. For the first time since her arrival she had dared to step outside, having remembered seeing the river nearby and feeling as safe as she could be she had gone to wash. The cool water had been refreshing to both her body and her spirit, then sitting upon the bank fixing her hair made her feel like some sort of mythical creature. Now was the task of scrubbing the only shift she owned, wrapping herself in a worn blanket she scrubbed the material in the clear water to freshen it up. There should have been the temptation within her mind to run, but she didn't. What was the point? If she ran her master would find her or someone worse she was certain. What he wanted was simple and he did not treat her badly, so for the moment Andrein decided to remain.

Back in the confines of her home as she should call it she lit a fire to dry her shift and she tidied around. The day was cold and the fire was necessary but Andrein knew to extinguish it before Sandor arrived back. When he left her he had gazed at her a moment with an unreadable expression but Andrein suspected that he thought she would try to run away in his absence.

Dusk settled when Sandor made his way into their shared lodgings, he could smell the fire recently snuffed out in the air and he looked around. He soon beheld Andrein knelt in the corner seemingly sleeping. Her body leant upon the wall and her temple was pressed against it. As he stepped forward his movement made her wake. Sleepily she beheld him and she rose dutifully, wiping the sleep from her eyes. He was bloodied, spatterings on his armour and in his hair, having seen him operate the night he purchased her Andrein was not shocked by the sight. He dropped a bundle wrapped in cloth upon a nearby table.

Stepping forward she moved to his armoured arm and looked to loosen the bonds.

"Take them off and I shall clean them." She said quietly, trying not to phrase it like a demand. Sandor was tired, very tired and he allowed her to remove his armour without a word. In truth he was glad to return to find her here, he sensed she meant to do her duty whilst she resided with him and so he pledged some degree of trust towards her. Once free of the armour he moved towards the bed and threw himself down in exhaustion, the blood had been satisfactory today but he was glad of a presence nearby now.

Sandor heard Andrein move towards the bed, his back was to her. Turning she held out a cup of water to him, it was quickly drained and handed back to her. For a moment she watched him but he turned away from her again and closed his eyes. The heaviness overcame him and he soon fell to sleep, his dreams were fleeting and odd; blood, faces and past memories and how long he slumbered for he could not be sure. Upon waking he found the room mostly in darkness, only one light burned at the other end of the room. A fleeting moment of grogginess passed over him but soon he sat up on the bed. Roughly he wiped the sweat matted hair from his forehead and cleared his throat.

Looking across the room he beheld Andrein again sat patiently but this time he took far more notice of her appearance. Her hair was long and very wavy and she looked exactly how he requested two days previously.

"There is bread in that bundle." He said gruffly and Andrein soon took to her task bringing him more water and a large chunk of bread. She tore off only a small piece for herself and took no water having given him the last glassful. Sandor saw her sacrifice and he laughed to himself. "What good is that to me if you waste away, or is that the plan?"

"You are my master I…."

"Shut up and drink!"

The cup was forced in her direction and without a word Andrein took a few mouthfuls. When handing it back she found him staring intensively at her, studying every bit of her cleaner appearance. It unnerved her a little for she was not certain what he was thinking.

"You are being very obedient Andrein." He observed, chewing upon a mouthful of bread. "I thought you'd try and make yourself hideous so I wouldn't want to fuck you."

"I should fetch more water."

"You're going to the river?"

"Yes."

"I'll accompany you." A flash of annoyance fell over her face but she quickly covered it. Sandor chuckled again. "It's not for your protection."

The pair did not speak again but they made their way to the river, Andrein cradling a jug protectively to her and Sandor with some faint smirk of amusement. Upon reaching the bank where she had sat earlier they stood side by side, Sandor scanning the area.

"You bathed here earlier?"

"Yes."

"You shed your clothes?"

"I did."

Sandor began to remove his own clothes and Andrein soon watched as he strode into the river naked, the moonlight falling on his scarred back. There were many thick, raised scars of various shapes and sizes and Andrein did not want to contemplate how he got them. Something about Sandor made her think he remembered each and every one of them. His body was large and broad, it was the essence of power, a frightening prospect. Sandor walked till the water rose to his waist then cupping handfuls he threw them over his head and body. Andrein took to the task of filling the water jug but then she stood waiting for him to finish. All the while as he bathed himself he had his back to her and she watched as his muscles rippled whenever he moved, she hoped the day would never arise that those hands wrapped around her neck and broke it or beat her body. At last he turned to look at her, slowly wading through the water towards her.

"I am noticing you like to stand and watch." He said. "Those eyes of yours were made for staring."

"I cannot help it whilst they are in my head."

"I hope no one ever thinks of taking a dagger and plucking one out." He replied, only inches from her his feet still submerged in the water, the rest of him naked and dripping wet.

"One day you might wish too."

"I would not." He walked past her unphased by his nakedness and back towards their lodgings, she picked up his clothes and quickly followed. "Many would consider me a fucking fool to cut out an eye that can bear to look upon me as you just have."

For a few minutes silence fell between them again, she struggled to keep pace with his stride whilst securely holding the jug and clothes in her hands. He watched her from the corner of his eye, she focused hers on the distance and he imagined she dreamed she were away from him. Back inside he surprised her by lighting a small fire but he moved from it as soon as it took wings. She placed the things on the table and saw that all but his hair was dry now. Moving near to him she swept some of the damp locks from his forehead lightly then stood awaiting his instruction. Andrein anticipated she would be bedded every night for he seemed that sort of man and his stamina was undoubtable.

Sandor reached out a hand and ran it down the freshly washed waves of hair, taking note of the intricacy of each wave. He did not need to speak, Andrein removed her shift and stood nude before him and allowed herself to be studied for as long as he wished. Stepping nearer to her she felt the obvious desire he felt and prepared herself to receive the unbridled strength of his lust. She did not desire it, they had not connected like that but nor was that her purpose. But like she watched him in the river, his might was something to be in awe of.

He lifted her like she weighed no more than a feather but their bed was not near enough and Andrein found herself crushed against the wall, his hands roughly wrapping her legs about his waist as he entered her. Then he was gone, into the motions of his own desire that were fast and unyielding. She was pleased it did not give her physical pain and she did not feel repulsed, in a way when it happened she felt elsewhere, like a third person watching it from a distance. For what was she but a mere doll in his arms, she could not respond or fight him off, that was not her purpose. On the night she entered this life, on the night her capters made her she was told that her life was to receive all things decided by her master. Those masters were dead and Sandor owned her now.

Sandor sat on the end of the bed after he had let her feet touch the floor again. She had soon followed him, her legs stiff and weak. Kneeling behind him she began to thread her hands through his hair, stroking from his scalp to the ends. Her aim was to tame and sooth the sated beast sat before her, Sandor did not stop her. Now the euphoric desire had passed, a thing he never tired of practising he reflected on Andrein. This latest act was almost maternal, like he was a child who needed to be appeased and yet her behaviour since he arrived back was like that of a wife. He was glad he had purchased her, he may have forced them together but at least she seemed to bear his company. If she hated him she hid it well. The only thing he wished was that he sometimes could understand the meaning in those eyes that always watched him. He knew fear, scheming and desire in the eyes of humanity but none of those did he see today in the eyes of his Andrein.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A.N Thank you for the lovely reviews I've had so far. Uploading two chapters tonight as the second one is shorter. Obviously this fic is going to show a love developing between Sandor and Andrein but as I said I'm going to do my best to avoid fluff and hope that the journey is an interesting one for you readers. Please let me know what you think.**_

The forest was coated with thawing snow and ice, all around the smell of damp, rotting foliage invaded the nostrils and the air was an unforgiving chill. Passing through like spectres on a horse were Sandor and Andrein, she seated in front of him like a child. In the cool air she was wrapped in a thick fur but it still made her cheek glow like rosy embers. Two months had passed with Sandor Clegane and they had fallen into a comfortable routine with one another, she was far more used to his ways now. Sandor however was still unfamiliar with having a regular presence about him, when the time came for him to move on from their lodgings he was used to leaving all behind. But now he had a companion and not a child like Arya or Sansa, but a young woman he owned. They had travelled some hours in silence and from the way Andrein leant upon him he was certain she had drifted off to sleep and his forearms held her a little tighter to him so she did not fall. It required no great effort for she was so nymph like in his it was like carrying a child.

Realising it was time to rest for the night and allow his horse to rest Sandor looked out for a convenient place to build a makeshift camp. He located an area that appeared dryer. He dismounted and carried Andrein in his arms, the movement made her wake and she looked up at him. She believed he would put her down but he did not, instead he carried her to a broken bow of a tree and placed her upon it carefully. From there she watched as he took his horse to a small pond allowing it to drink and bring back wood to build them a fire. All this preparation passed in silence and when a fire roared between them she neared it reaching out her hands to warm them.

"We need to look for food." He said at last and taking her out he taught her how to capture hares. Andrein surprised him for she skinned them and soon had them roasting on skewers over the fire. As they tucked into their repast, Sandor gave a small smile to himself as Andrein ate unceremoniously on a leg of the hare. He was practised on journeying long distances without eating but he was still having to learn that she required feeding more regularly.

"Where are we to head?" She asked once she had finished, wiping any remnants from her mouth. Her hair was bundled up onto the back of her head but wisps were fraying from the fastenings after a long day of travel.

"I am uncertain."

"Are you to become someone else's mercenary?"

"Most people would say I would be their hound."

"Then what would that make me?"

"Some may say a bitch." He explained. "But I would rip out their tongue were they too."

"Shall we rest here the night?" She asked, ignoring his violent comment. Rising she cast the handful of bones of the hare carcass into the distance, Sandor was impressed with her throw. He observed her, she still looked tired the open road was no comfort for a woman like her. He had wondered of late where she was from, she seemed to display no urge to discuss herself and no question about his past ever passed her lips. This woman seemed to live entirely in the second she breathed, the past and future held no relevance. The past held much for him, it forged every current and future breath.

"We shall." He replied and threw down a bundle containing another fur, placing it on the floor some way from the fire whilst still benefitting from its warmth. "Rest by my side Andrein."

"In case someone should steal in to slit our throats?"

"They would not manage with me." He said honestly. "But I could not promise the same for you."

Dutifully she came forward and laid upon the side closest to the fire, he had neither asked nor expected her too and this proved that she seemed to sense more about him than he let on. Facing the fire her skin looked snow white and her eyes blinked heavily. She soon felt him lie by her on his back and turning to face him she threw some of the fur she was over his chest and rested her head in the crook of his arm.

"You are no good to anyone dead." She murmured and she felt an arm loosely rest over her. His breathing was deep and heavy and she contemplated her size compared to his, he really was a giant. It was a wonder he had never crushed her thus far. Sandor warmed thanks to her closeness but he was not used to sleeping quite this close to her, after a bedding he would never lay with his limbs intertwined with hers. They did not rest together like sated lovers. The binding of her hair made her uncomfortable and Andrein sat up, unpinning it and shaking out its mass. This did nothing to add to the comfort of Sandor, rather the opposite. Without thinking she ran her hands through it sleepily and then returned to resting against him. Sandor listened to her breathing and all the noises around him, he was ever on edge and her presence did not help.

Part of him wanted to claim his usual pleasure from her, rolling her onto her back and taking all the pleasure her soft, yielding body offered but he thought better of it. But now his mind was on such matters he weighed up the nature of taking her to his bed, for so far it had been very one sided. He had purchased her, there was nothing more to be said, he acted just the same way with whores. One thing he was thankful for was that unlike whores, Andrein seemed alike to him in not engaging in talking ceaselessly. Her presence had many benefits and that was one of them, others he had paid for clawed at him with their wilful hands and believed they could become his master.

His head turned to watch her, her eyes were open, glimmering in the firelight. Catching her gaze she looked up at him. For a while they just stared at each other and he looked at her dewy mouth and realised he had barely put that to task at all. He rarely kissed whores, he was usually far to enveloped in his own pleasures to do so, never finding it added any euphoria. But beyond seeking the delights of fucking her he had barely paid much attention to Andrein or explored the possibilities of lying with her beyond the usual. He surmised again because these were the musings of lovers, she was not his lover but nor was she a whore. Was he going to travel for years with her present and never taste beyond the most obvious realms of pleasure? Imagine what that mouth could do made him wonder.

Andrein seemed to read him on some level for her hand skimmed down to the obvious desire stirring strong and slipping her hand beneath his apparel she firmly stroked him as she had done once or twice before. Her eyes no longer looked at him and her head rested in the crook of his arm as she worked him towards oblivion. Sandor felt urged to halt her ministrations and push her onto her back or seat her on his lap and take her till he was satisfied but he didn't. Closing his eyes he gave way to her and soon he groaned with climactic satisfaction.

When he looked down again her hand was once more loosely resting across his abdomen and she had fallen asleep. Cautiously he removed himself from her, wrapping the fur back around her and he cleaned himself up. He sat himself nearby and watched her sleep for a while, it occurred to him that he might be the slightest bit fond of her. His harsher self critic spoke the loudest and reminded him it was only because she was a convenient fuck and she didn't natter at him. What better than an obliging bedfellow at his disposal after all? Sandor never let himself imagine he was capable of more.


	5. Chapter 5

Sandor staggered back to their temporary lodgings, which was more of a small hovel in a row of six on the outskirts of some dense woodland. Andrein saw him appear in the dank doorway, dimly lit by the light from outside and it did not take her long to notice the problem. Having set out to hunt alone wearing only his breastplate for protection an animal, like a stag had managed to pierce his shoulder blade. Sandor gripped it with his hand and blood was leaking from the wound. Despite his size and strength it had been a crippling blow and he virtually collapsed in the doorway.

With his remaining strength and Andrein's they managed to get him to their makeshift bed and with some difficulty she removed the breastplate. Peeling back the torn fabric drenched with blood she saw a deep tear in the flesh seeping with his life force. Fetching the remaining water in the jug she tore a strip from her ragged shift and pressed it hard on the wound. Sandor groaned, only semi conscious and weak now. She watched as his eyes struggled to focus and how he writhed in pain under the pressure.

"Lie still." She soothed though inside she felt sick at the sight of the wound, she had never been fond of it. "Lie still."

There was a fear in Andrein that this wound could be fatal for infection would likely set in. In recent months since growing accustomed to her master she realised she was safest with him, it was a selfish thought but without him her prospects became both desperate and dangerous. As she watched he managed to focus on her a little more and tearing another piece from her shift she soaked it and pressed it to his forehead. He roused enough for her next instruction.

"I need to fetch more water, can you hold this?"

Sandor nodded groggily his own weak hand using all its strength to replace her shaking one. Dashing from the hovel with the jug thinking little of her appearance she dashed to a small pond. The water wasn't the cleanest; she would have to boil it. She noticed other dwellers nearby watching her and she realised the state of her shift, now torn and bloody. Andrein was angry at their suspicious curiosity and she wanted to hurl curses at them she had heard Sandor use, but instead she hurried back.

The water was put on to boil and she impatiently watched it in between forcing a calm exterior when she looked down at her wounded owner. The bleeding was still occurring and things started to look really dangerous, once again she dashed out and distractedly asked her neighbours for something else.

Upon her return Sandor groggily watched her, she held something long and thin in her hand and whilst unwell he knew full well what she was going to do. Andrein help the tip of the instrument into the small fire, a sight which made his blood run cold and he felt afraid. For a little while she held it there, then she brought what he saw to be a crude iron poker towards him, the tip burning orange. Sandor flinched but she seated herself on the bedside.

"You understand?" She said shakily, terrified at the prospect of what this would do to him, knowing full well it was not the pain he feared. Sandor was now more awake through fright and it took him a moment to remove his hand. Peeling back any obstruction Andrein lowered the poker end onto the wound. She was not sure what made her stomach churn and blood curdle more, the sound of searing flesh or Sandor's loud moan of pain. But for his life the wound needed to be cauterised and terror on both sides needed to be faced. For several moments he writhed and struggled, once or twice reaching towards her as though to stop her, somehow he overcame this. It was in those moments Andrein feared for her own life, feared he would strike out. But Sandor blacked out, the smell of burnt flesh was crisp in her nostrils. Andrein removed the poker and tore one last piece from her shift, laying it over the wound.

Stepping outside she took a stumbling few steps before vomiting, her muscles clenched and her body gave way bringing her to her knees. Never in all her life had she faced such a sight, a man with such strength and will as he contorted with terror as she approached him with something that could save his life.

The wind blew hard upon her and she was pleased, it was reviving. She did not know if distrustful eyes were still upon her but gathering her courage she re-entered their abode and saw him laid as he was when she left. Even in sleep he was never so still as now, he looked like he no longer breathed. Andrein took the water off the boil and let it cool then taking advantage of his sleep she set out to find sufficient ingredients to make a poultice. She would not lose him, she could not.

…

Gregor's voice was all that boomed in his mind, Sandor was back some fifteen years or so but his old home seemed blurry and darker than he remembered. The thick stone walls were quite fortified but all quivered and shook from _that_ voice. It shouted vile things and he could hear cries, then he was on a battled field. All was sweeps of mighty swords and blood scattered limbs yet still _that_ voice boomed on. Then there was another voice, a deep guttural cry from somewhere in the air he could not fathom, it was a voice he knew, a female voice. Looking about him wildly he struck at all that was in his path but he could not find her, he knew she was with _him_. He was the cause of her cries. Then there were stone floors, a shrill, heart wrenching scream and peels of sardonic laughter. There was blood and before him was a blurred shape dragging itself along the floor, he reached out his hands, struggled against unseen bonds but he could not move. Over the moving body stood a dark, giant shape, a shadow. It was _him. _All that Sandor knew was the desire, the burning hateful desire to kill that shape yet there was another feeling as he looked at the pathetic outline trying to get away, love.

There was a scream again, nearer now and much different from the other. Sandor's eyes hazily snapped open and he could feel something writhing and fighting against him, another noise could be heard, throaty breathing and gurgles. He felt deep pain and something beat against him like a bird flapping its wings madly. His eyes struggled to focus but he knew he held something in his iron grip and whilst he knew he should let go something from what he had just seen would not let him. Suddenly a searing pain reached that part of him that already hurt, it felt like a blow, the grip was released and he fell backwards into blackness again.

…

Sandor's eyes opened, they were heavy like lead but all around was dimly lit and kind to his eyes. For several minutes he struggled to look around him, trying to focus and remember where he was. At last one point of focus brought him back, a shape huddled by their bed, her head resting against the wall as she slept, her long hair draping around her like a shroud. Andrein. Pulling himself up slightly he watched her, breathing in and out with tired beauty. Despite the dim light he could see she was wan from fatigue. Sandor looked to his shoulder; it was bound with a clean dressing and underneath a fresh poultice. He peeled it all back, the wound ached but as he examined it it looked clean and uninfected. He realised then the steps she had taken, she had saved him.

His attempts to rise failed him, he could not do so yet and he was sorry for he wanted to lift her into their bed so she could sleep more comfortably. But all he could do was watch her, his slave, his bedfellow, his saviour.


	6. Chapter 6

Sandor Clegane lay glistening with sweat, his heavy breathing filling the room and dwarfing the small, shallow breaths of the woman next to him. He hadn't meant to get ahead of himself, he hadn't meant to just take hold of her like he did but he couldn't help it. How long had he watched her when she hadn't perceived him during his recuperation? His blood boiling every step he took back towards good health. Despite being driven to action by his needs and feelings he had not forced himself on her, indeed she was hardly physically able to stop him but she had not resisted. If only he could have allowed her time to rest, for beneath him she looked fragile and exhausted but she knew only to relinquish control to her master.

There was something about this woman that consumed him and coupled with frustration at being idle he had truly driven himself to wild ecstasy. Sandor wanted to turn his head and look at her but for some reason he could not bring himself to, it wasn't shame for he felt no guilt. Had she cried or resisted he might have felt compelled to be shameful but she gave way, she truly was the slave.

Unseen he had watched her, he felt himself truly in her debt. Unable to communicate this he had fallen back to the familiar needs of his own being to distract him. Sandor blamed the fact she lived with him, he was bound to become fond of her in some way for she was neither troublesome nor hysterical. Andrein accepted her lot and got on with it and whilst she bore it without complaint did not make him feel his best, at least he did not terrify her.

Slick with sweat, sated from one lust in the absence of another he relinquished to the throbbing ache in his shoulder which he had refused to acknowledge as he fucked her. Physical release was all that drove him, he did not think that she neither touched him nor looked him in the eye anymore. She was silent but for her breathing and her entire being seemed built to make him long for more. Perhaps it was a mistake having her here, for here was weakness and danger.

Rising from the bed he dressed himself and paced wildly, despite physical satisfaction the listlessness of being without battle soon returned. He felt Andrein watching him as he paced and he grew irritated at himself for showing weakness in front of her, what kind of master was he revealing this side to her? He felt such displays would hardly maintain her respect for him and were he to lose that only disgust could replace it. Sandor's crushing anger flared and he sent the empty jug reeling across the room hearing the sound of shards splintering. Andrein immediately rose, adjusting her tattered shift to cover herself as she began cleaning up the fragments. The fact she had to do such a thing annoyed him all the more, but his inability to control himself made him direct the anger at her.

"Never mind that!" He growled. "I need wine!"

Andrein snapped up sensing the danger in his voice and throwing the bound hare skins over her shoulders she scurried to the door. Sandor beat a fist against the wall and pressing his forehead upon it. As she reached the door a thought came to Andrein and she murmured.

"We have no coin."

The tone of her voice made him grow bitter at himself but still he could only direct it at her.

"Then give them something else." He reeled harshly, needing her out his sight for he was appalled with himself. Andrein clutched the furs closer to her, the afternoon was drawing on and it was not warm, she'd have a fair walk to find somewhere to buy him what he needed. Sandor did not look at her face as she left instead he faced away from her, hating himself.

As the solitary hour passed Sandor came to the conclusion they would move on again, he was a sellsword after all and it was better for him to be so. Without cutting down others he was forced to look at himself, forced to be someone she could not respect and what he now felt towards her drove him desperately with need for it.

Another hour passed and she still was not back and he grew concerned, deeply concerned. The walk he knew would not have taken her this long unless something was wrong. In his anger he had not contemplated how she took his meaning. Sandor had no coin, the only thing he had was her and now she was using herself as payment, the very same reason he bought her for. The thought of someone pawing at her, fucking her made him sick. A thick, green vein of jealousy ripped through him but despite its potency he was drowning in self loathing. What a demand to make of her, she was a slave, but to send her out helpless, barely dressed to a man who's manner he could only dread made him fear for her safety. Taking up his sword he walked out into the dusk determined to find her, dreading what state he would find her in.

All the while he searched his mind tortured him with images of her bloody and raped, sometimes even dead and with such taunting thoughts past memories leaked out too. Before him now was another picture, another woman bloodied and helpless, dragging herself along a stone floor crying. The sound of fracturing bones echoed around his skull and those cries were unmerciful in their torment.

In the darkness of night he returned unsuccessful, his shoulder ached, he felt weak but none of this matched the soul destructive hatred he felt. The night air stung him, the ground was unyielding on his feet and he knew his healing wound bled little, but none of it mattered. The pain did not match that of his spirit. Their hovel was a grim prospect to return to, he had no business dragging her along with him even if until today he had been a kinder owner than she could have had. Whores were for fucking, he should have stuck to them. He should not send the only woman to show him kindness out to cruelty even when she was only required to be mere meat for him.

Upon reaching their abode he stopped dead, his body jolting to a halt so fast it made his muscles contract with an excruciating ache. A light glowed from the lone window, firelight. Someone was in their hovel and without a further thought he barged inside. Andrein snapped up in shock and gave a little cry. Whatever Sandor had expected to see he could not have been more wrong, a fire glowed in the corner, a crude bottle of wine rested on the table and there she stood.

Her face was unhurt and her clothes the same as when she had left, but something was different. Her hair which had flowed in long thick waves to her waist was now chopped unevenly to just above her shoulders and the ends looked frayed as thought the cutter had taken little care. She had not been required to relinquish her body in exchange for wine but now as Sandor stood glaring at her he wasn't sure if this was worse. How many times had the sight and feel of her hair made his blood boil? How often did he seat her on his lap and make her touch it or brush it along his skin? He had demanded her to find a way of paying for his wine, forcing her to sacrifice a part of herself and so she had. As ever Andrein had proved herself the obedient slave and it shamed Sandor to an unbearable point. Yet he could not utter a word of it to her, nothing of his feelings could he communicate to her.

Dutifully she approached him clearly sensing his shock at the change of appearance. Taking the wine she handed it to him without reproach though there was a sadness deep in her eyes he could not miss. They stood opposite one another in a suspended moment, he could not speak to her and worse still he could not pull her to him and apologise.

"Dornish wine." She said. "I got a boar leg too."

Sandor seated himself, but somehow with the fruit of her sacrifice before him he could not touch it. As usual Andrein took only a small piece for herself and she sipped nervously at her water.

"You are unhappy with me?" She asked. "I understand what this will mean."

What did she think it would mean? That he would not desire her? That he would beat her or worse? Andrein seemed to think her actions were seen by him as spiteful or defiant and as a result must be punished. Sandor neither answered nor looked at her, instead he forced himself to consume the meat and drink, the latter doing little to desensitize how he felt. There was not enough wine in the world for that. Still a melancholic haze replaced burning self loathing and some time passed in heavy silence. Once he had eaten Andrein took to nursing the leaking wound, cleaning it and making sure infection would not sprout there. Her attentions did not help him, and he was unable to show anything but a hardened exterior despite his inner turmoil.

His eyes finally managed to travel up her arm to her face as he dared to glance at her expression as his eyes examined the ragged ends of her deep, ruby hair. No appeasement was to come this evening as his eyes caught sight of something else on her neck. Deep blue, angry marks tarnished her skin and without helping it he yanked her to him for closer inspection. Andrein froze in his arms and he realised how intense a hold her had on her but he could not help it, pushing the hair aside he exposed the bruises to his gaze and a raged growl passed from his throat.

"Those who cut this, did they mark you?"

"No."

"The merchant?"

"No."

Then it hit him, the cold stark reality. The size of those bruised imprints from grasping fingers could only come from one person. Him. The brutal realisation made him release her, pushing her from him in disbelief and Andrein tried to cover up the offensive bruises.

"You were sick." She explained flatly.

Her words were unbearable, he couldn't hear anymore. This day was hell, he was a monster. Andrein could only watch as this master of hers grew tense as he absorbed his actions, she didn't know if he felt guilty or annoyed that both her skin and hair were displeasing to look at. Fearing the latter she stepped forward, bracing the thought he may well strike her again but better that than him casting her off for trying him too much. Working at his clothes she undressed him with some difficulty for his muscles were contracted like iron. Sinking to her knees she did the only thing she knew she could do to prove her worth for whatever this man may do, it was better than that of any other.


	7. Chapter 7

Within two weeks Sandor was armoured up at the door of their new lodgings, the metal was polished for Andrein had spent a great amount on time on it. His work as a sellsword had returned and he was due to leave her for a little while. Sandor felt better leaving her in a place that was less isolated, he did not want her vulnerable or having to venture out alone too often. Now as he stood there, he watched her building up the fire with her back to him, she had a definite knack for fire building. All day they had been out collecting firewood and hunting to tide her over in his absence. They had walked side by side in a strange contented silence, each with their arms full of thick branches. Sandor imagined Andrein was relieved he was going away for a little while, that perhaps he would return a more contented man once he had a sword coated in blood.

Yet now the time had come he was reluctant to leave her, since the day he noticed the bruises on her neck they had never spoken of it and in his absence she may run. With the fire growing nicely in the hearth Andrein rose and moved towards him, a new grey dress covering her body, no longer showing flesh except when she undressed at his bidding. It made him happy to be able to cloth her again, with money he could at least play the better master were practicalities were concerned. Andrein reached out her hand and smoothed a lock of hair that hung over his hooded eye and she looked over her work on his armour. When her deep violet eyes looked up at him she bore a strange expression and he could not leave without knowing her mind.

"You have something to say?" He asked, she shook her head and their eyes only remained on one another for some time. Would now be too strange a moment to kiss her? He had the urge too though he knew he would soon return. Sandor heard the fire snap in the background, a particularly large crackle made Andrein jump and after a second she laughed at herself. It was slight and quiet but a laugh none the less and with it came a small smile, but fear made her correct herself and the mirth soon vanished. He knew full well why, how could she think of laughing about the fire startling her when he was terrified, they both knew he was, they just never spoke of it. Yet for the first time in his life Sandor was indebted to that fire for till now he had never seen such a lovelier sight on her face.

Her lips had curved upwards a little and shown her teeth and a girlish, breathy laugh escaped from the confines of her façade. But now her eyes dropped to the floor out of duty as though imagining his displeasure, how wrong she was. In that moment those lips, that face had looked so kissable but he did not, for that was one thing he imagined she would not wish him to do. It was not necessary and it would bring her far too close to his disfigured face. This girl, for she was still a girl in his eyes her age perhaps being ten and nine years at the most stood looking so different from before. Sandor was reluctant to go, but blood called.

And so he was gone. Those were dark days, a longer time than he imagined and after counting seventeen of them he returned to that home as he chose to call it. He felt a kind of glory inside, his armour now coated in blood and dirt, it was his purpose. Some soldiers ducked and dived, but his arm swung mighty, unforgiving blows and he lost count of the number of men that had fallen at his feet in the name of a war which he had already walked from once. His skin was sticking to his underclothes and he felt close and uncomfortable, despite his inner glory he longed to shirk it all off for a time and be back in his own lodgings… with Andrein.

As he neared his home he passed a dishevelled looking man, rotund and clearly ripe with drink. Recognising Sandor he stumbled over and jeered.

"You should watch that slut of yours."

Were it anything else, Sandor would have ripped out his tongue but he contented knocking the man to the ground. This is exactly what he feared, some maligned inference from parasites yet there was indeed a lot to fear. When he stepped through the door a strong smell reached his nostrils and the close warmth and comfort made him feel a sense of relief, she was still here.

Sandor exhaled heavy, taking off his sword and placing it on the table. He ventured into their lodgings and looked about. On the hearth a pan of broth bubbled and released a scent of such intoxicating deliciousness that Sandor realised the lurching hunger in his stomach. Andrein soon entered behind him carrying in her arms a bundle of cloth but she stopped when she saw him. Her hair had volume from her labours but her cheeks had no colour. The cloth dripped a little and he realised she must have carried it all the way from the river. Putting the linen down Andrein came forward and stood by him, taking a second to stir the broth before working to release his armour.

Sandor could not deny it, the moment her hands reached out to touch his armour his stomach leapt in affection. He was not shy or an innocent but the familiarity of her presence and the look of her were two things he missed when he was on the battle field. Blood lust clouded his vision for a time, but when the battles were fought his mind immediately brought recollections of her.

"I have been ready every day." She explained, removing piece after piece of his armour whilst he just stood there. "This is good to eat."

"Fish?" He questioned.

"Yes. I caught it." She replied and his brow furrowed in confusion. "Does that displease you?"

He did not answer but he was curious, free of the armour he seated himself whilst she busied around almost as though he was not there. Andrein was engrossed in her work, she always got a far off look when something took hold of her attention. At last they sat together eating the broth and drinking wine and Sandor broached his question.

"Who taught you to fish?"

"My family fished." She answered, enjoying her meal and he realised it was the first thing about her past that he knew. Andrein sensed he wanted to know more but to tell more seemed difficult. "You will be angry."

"Tell me." He asked, it was not an aggressive demand but his meaning was plain.

"I needed a boat, you can't get much is the shallows." She explained, raising her eyes to look at him something he found brave. "He seemed weak enough, the man… I arranged to share my catch with him if he took me out. We went out, I caught three fish."

"You're a fucking fool hardy girl." Sandor growled, already guessing the events. Andrein put her plate down and came to kneel down in front of him those big eyes looking into his and he sensed something in them.

"Look over me." She said quietly. "Do I look harmed?"

Sandor continued to look into those eyes and they seemed to grow a deeper plum and then he saw it, defiance.

"No." He replied. "But you still may be."

Andrein blinked hard and she moved away from him again, she refilled his glass and then fetched a dress he had bought her, his blood chilled when he saw deep, red blood dried on the fabric. He slammed down his drink and yanked the dress from her his eyes scouring over it. There were no tears in the fabric, had there been a struggle?

"What meaning is there from this fucking dress?" He growled, taking a step nearer though she did not flinch. He heard her inhale deeply.

"A sayer told my father I was barren so I found myself walking with two men and their other unfortunate women where you bought me. Now I have a blooded dress."

She took the dress from him and threw it on the fire whose flames soon licked it to nothing but black ash. For a moment they looked at one another but then he allowed her to move away, he comprehended her meaning and tried to take it in. His feelings churned inside him and yet he couldn't distinguish what they were.

"You were sick?"

"For several days, you see I am stronger now."

"You did not say."

"I did not know." Then she laughed but not like before, this was flat and cynical. "Neither did the sayer."

Sandor returned to his wine as Andrein tidied around only then to walk to the door, evening drew on now and he was about to question her. He turned and looked at her, she was waiting for him.

"You have found a place to bathe?" He asked and she nodded, heaving his great frame from the chair he followed her relieved that he could clean off the stink from his skin. As he walked, she a little in front he surmised the events in his absence were for the better, though sickness could have taken her. This more than anything saddened him, her loss would be far greater than any being barely in inexistence. In his contemplation he did not realise how far they had walked till she brought him to a small clearing where water lapped at the edges.

"How did you find this place?" Sandor said in some astonishment.

"I swam here." She explained. "He imagined I could not."

They looked at one another for another moment before she continued.

"It is of no use to be afraid of the water."

"You clearly have never half drowned in it." He replied gruffly stripping down and wading into the water. Andrein watched that scarred, bruised back and shoulders of her giant master as he progressed into the depths. Sandor had to walk some way out for the water to rise to his chest. He began to wash himself but then turning he gestured to her to join him. Unlike Sandor, Andrein could not make it that far out by wading, he obviously wanted to see her swim.

Smoothly she appeared beside him, her progression had been quick and she was like some water nymph. Her hair now hung heavy and wet at her shoulders, looking raven black and that was it, he took hold of her, lifted her and had her. Gratified and clean he emerged from the water, carrying her with him. As he rested her on the bank she redressed herself and for the first time she seemed not herself. There was something rather too broodingly reflective in her aspect, despite his appeasement Sandor was quick tempered to know the reason for this change. He demanded to know it and with her guard down she gave the answer.

"I feel a pain you do not understand." She murmured. "But better so, there seems to be no gentleness in you."

Silence prevailed through their return journey until they neared the outskirts of the settlement. There a man approached but once within several steps he only passed them, yet Sandor could not mistake the man's fixed glare on Andrein. Despite the darkness he plainly saw a large chunk of flesh missing from the man's mouth, as though half his lower lip and surrounding flesh had been ripped away. Andrein continued to walk and the man looked on scowling, it was the last living look he gave anyone, Sandor Clegane saw to that.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A.N Can I just take a moment to thank those who have left such lovely reviews, it's really helped me keep writing. However I am worried I may not have been clear in my meaning in the last chapter and if any one wasn't sure what I was referring to then I apologise. Basically Andrein was sold by her father because a sayer told him she was barren. This turned out not to be the case as she discovered when she suffered a miscarriage following her run in with the fisherman. Please continue to review and I shall endeavour to write a story that you will all enjoy.**_

A short skirmish deserved a reward they said and so Sandor found himself ripe with drink, his sight hazy and faculties severely reduced. He and another fellow Thrane had followed a group of deserters through the denser parts of the forests and eventually slain them all. It had not been easy; two of the five men had hidden themselves well… only not well enough in the end. Four of the men had died by Sandor's sword and his masters decided celebratory recompense was the order of the day.

Now he staggered home, his heavy body a struggle to co-ordinate and the inside of his skull felt like it had marbles rolling around in it, colliding painfully together. His bladder ached having been filled to the brim with alcohol and with his home insight he stopped to relieve himself. The day had been full of drinking, little conversation and for some, much womanising from some obliging whores. At one point he recalled a plump looking girl sitting upon his knee semi naked, writhing and whispering nonsense but he couldn't remember what. Drink had rendered him useless but to his own stupor.

The light from the window made him smile, he gawped at it as only a drunken man would, like he was staring towards heaven. She was in there, all quiet and beautiful. The woman who these days almost drove him mad as he couldn't get enough of her, his body never fully satisfied even when his cup ran over with euphoric bliss inside of her. Relieved he wandered to the door, his lumbering frame stumbling through it. Andrein jumped at his entrance.

"Did I startle you my beauty?" He laughed, his hands fumbling for some form of support as he tried to strip the armour from his sleeve. In a moment Andrein was at his side aiding him but her eyes were not on his face and she worked in silence. Sandor didn't like it when she was like this, he couldn't read her. "A fine welcome."

Free of his bonds he saw bread on the table and tucked in to it, Andrein moved to the bed drawing up her knees like a child. Sandor knew she was watching him but she was clever and lowered her eyes a little to give the impression she wasn't. After consuming a few mouthfuls he demanded.

"Come on, out with it!"

"You were gone a long time, I heard Thrane was back."

"That almost sounds like you were worried." He replied ruefully, the alcohol making his meaning sound more facetious than he meant it to. "Did you imagine I was dead?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"You do disappoint me…" She rapped in quick rejoinder, surprising herself with her own bluntness and she soon clamped her mouth shut. Sandor stared at her; his slave was finding her tongue of late. He imagined he could not be a bad master if she dared to speak to him this way.

"How do I do that?" He growled.

"By keeping me here waiting and waiting like some sort of… when in fact I could be put to use."

All the while she sat there glaring at him, her knees hugged to her body. There was anger and confusion in her voice and in his stupor it took him off guard. Sandor said nothing but grunted and turned away, however Andrein had said too much already and if she was going to push it to a point where he ended up breaking her neck so be it.

"Why did you buy a slave to slake lust at your beckon call when you spend your times in those places? You might as well sell me to someone who will use me as what I am until my body wears out."

So, he thought she had come to seek him out when she had heard Thrane had returned and there was only one place she could have found him. Andrein was obviously fearful he was losing his desire for her, therefore she was trying to force his hand to sell her rather than bear to hear him decide it for himself.

"You told me that I hurt you." He drawled and he neared the opposite side of the bed. "Can you even imagine what a real bastard would do to you? You don't know what pain is."

"There is some pain only you…" She began but she stopped, her eyes dropped, the fight was gone out of them. Her hands dropped to her sides and she sighed. Sandor watched her and at last it dawned on him and his body flooded with a desire he'd considered before. Lurching out he grabbed one of her ankles and yanked her across the bed towards him. Andrein had not expected this and she cried out in surprise but was of no power to resist. Her legs fell either side of him dangling off the bed and his hands pulled up the hem of her dress to her waist. Stunned yet obedient Andrein lay there, expecting him to act upon his usual impulses however fear crept in when Sandor kneeled down in front of her, casting a leg over each of his broad shoulders.

Without another thought she could only watch as he unceremoniously buried his head between her legs. Unsure of what he was doing, Andrein could only lie there still very ignorant. She could feel his tongue exploring her mercilessly and the feelings in her body began to change. What he had failed to understand was that the pain she spoke of was an ache, an ache she could not decipher but that turned low in her stomach and loins when she spent time with him. It frightened her and of late the feeling was present more regularly and higher in intensity. The worst part was, somehow Sandor Clegane's actions were summoning it to the fore now, the aching need was back ten time stronger and he was not coaxing it out, he was forcing it.

The rush of sensation was swift and formidable and though part of her felt that she enjoyed it the impulsiveness of the action and his manner made her start to panic, she did not like it. Writhing underneath him she tried to get away but somehow he did not see this as a problem, he was far too focused in reducing her to nothing beneath him. For a moment she hated him. The sensations were too much now; she did not understand his logic and the feel of it began to make her feel like she wanted to cry. Andrein rose her feet and began kicking at him, levelling blows at his shoulders as she tried to push herself away from him. Sandor had not expected this so she was halfway across the bed from him before he reached up to follow her.

Crawling away from him on her front like a serpent was not easy in the furs and with her muscles having become jelly like from his ministrations. Sandor didn't understand and in his drunkenness he was angry. Reaching for her shoulder he flung her onto her back and what a sight greeted him. Her rosy mouth was parted as quick, heavy breaths escaped between those dewy lips, her cheeks were blazing with a flush of colour and that glorious fiery hair was strewn about her. Sandor was looming over her now, his hands on either side of her head as she was pinned down, there was nowhere to go. He watched as that exquisite chest heaved with breath from beneath her dress and those smooth, milky thighs still exposed. His want was straining painfully against his clothing, so intense was his need he thought he would burst. Andrein looked the epitome of everything he desired and he was about to engulf her lips with his own when he caught sight of her eyes. Suddenly everything changed for in them there was no anger, no surprise, no desire. Instead there was abject terror and she lay frozen beneath him like ice and rock. He looked down at her a moment, her breath stopped and despite all things he still wanted to lower his lips to hers, only gentler now. His drunkenness and impulsiveness were slowly draining from him as the reality was dawning upon him; such actions had made her fear him.

As she lay paralyzed beneath him he realised how he felt and as his mind admitted the feelings of the rest of his body he recoiled back with dismay and stood by the bed. For a moment Andrein did not move, still dazed and confused by fright but at last she moved to her side of the bed, pushing her dress back down and laying on her side away from him. Emotions raged and conflicted within him, part of him was frustrated by her innocence that gave way to panic but the rest was a mingle of embarrassment, shame and feeling the fool for he would not hurt a hair on her head.

To Sandor's surprise she was soon near him, he had been so deep in his thoughts she had managed to sneak upon him and when he looked he saw she had his dagger in her hand. Though she held it she did not point it directly at him, but her eyes were hard and angry, her cheeks still flushed and Sandor was ashamed as desire twitched inside his trousers again.

"Why?" She asked.

"To give you pleasure you stupid girl!" He said, angry now and edging nearer to her seeing her grip the dagger a little tighter.

"Why?" She demanded again. "Does it satisfy you?"

"Yes as it happens!" He bellowed.

Andrein's face contorted with confusion and Sandor somehow sensed she had a battle of her own raging within her. A large part of him wanted to test this but the part of him uninfluenced by drink thought better of it. She slammed the dagger to the floor and yanked the thread fastenings on her dress, allowing it to drop and pool at her feet. She was a whole different type of beautiful when angry. Kneeling in front of him she brusquely freed his straining erection from his trousers looking up at him saying.

"I was bought for that purpose."

The words pained him but soon that pretty mouth gave reality to his fantasy.


	9. Chapter 9

When the early morning sun invaded the sole window of their home, Andrein rose like the world in which they shared had not changed. But it had, in the last three days since she had appeared so terrified of her master Sandor Clegane she had resumed her normal behaviour, exhibiting no signs of what was going on inside her mind. For Sandor this was not quite so easy and he was beyond frustrated both physically and emotionally, the latter being particularly unhelpful as he never really consulted that side of himself other when indulging in blind rage. Upon waking that first morning he knew how far in his own way he had fallen in love with the girl he had purchased on a careless whim. He had fallen heavily indeed, everything about her impatiently enthralled.

Today they walked together in silence, her hair twisted up painfully tight on her head. In recent weeks the pallour in her face grew fresher, peachier and she seemed to be blooming into the true beauty of womanhood. Every minute he wanted to hold her, talk to her and everything that followed but she didn't believe that, she saw herself as what he paid for, a piece of meat ripe for the fucking. It was ironic that merely fucking had lost some of its appeal whilst she just lay there obliging his authority. He was a man after all and whilst he had lust he also had pride and need for affection, he needed her to respond to him, in words, thoughts and acts.

When they reached the water side they parted as he went out to fetch wood for their fire whilst she bathed and washed the few linen they had. Sandor left her by the bank, exchanging a few words parting from her with both relief and reluctance. His mind and body communicated together in her absence and whilst he picked up piece after piece of possible kindling his mind was in consultation.

Andrein was not easy like dealing with whores, she had her own mind and thoughts and whilst being obliging in all his carnal wants and physical needs, she did not appear to be forthcoming with her own feelings, desire or wants. A large part of him indulged so heavily on the physical things; violence, drink and fucking and the latter in regards to Andrein was now beyond purely the physical release she allowed him. Having touched and tasted her for the briefest moments he realised how little of her he had actually savoured, yes in the past he had contemplated it but it was different now. Being in love with her fuelled his desire all the more to almost sink into her and to make her feel how he felt.

Strangely out of all circumstances his horrific affliction did not enter the equation, it was like she didn't see it and not because she chose not to, but it seemed to her it was a part of him like any other. It was definitely not something to be repulsed by and this gave him hope. Yet how he remembered those eyes, deep with dark terror, how it provoked both deep remorse and yet unbearable desire within him. Andrein was so small and fragile compared to his large, cumbersome frame and that power made him feel strong though he would never use it against her, for whatever he did she would always have equal though differing power over him. Physically he could break her in an instant but that mind of hers was forged like iron, he knew that.

With all these thoughts but no clear answers, Sandor had only a large pile of wood in his arms to show for his mental and physical labours. When he neared the clearing however he stopped dead, for voices, jeering, nasty voices could be heard from where he left her. This was coupled with sounds of splashing water and sardonic laughter, Sandor dropped the wood and proceeded towards the sounds. Why was he always finding himself saving redheads? Spying he noticed three men stood on the bank yelling and throwing stones at Andrein who was trying her best to swim out as her dress weighed her down.

"Come on out pretty, you look so good!" One sneered picking up a stone and throwing it dangerously close to Andrein. That was the last thing Sandor saw before red descended, he marched forward with his dagger and despite feeling the blows he reigned down upon the men he could not see a thing until at last he panted raggedly and saw his hands and dagger were smeared in blood. Two of the men barely escaped, dragging the third along with them quite dead. With his clarity returning to him Sandor looked out and saw a shaking Andrein emerging from the water, her dress hanging heavy on her was torn at the shoulder seam and her face had gone deathly pale. Coming forward Sandor half caught her when she emerged and using his weight she was supported whilst he looked her over. He stripped the wet dress from her and wrapped her in one of the linens still resting on the bank and examined her more carefully. One or two stones had clearly hit her for there were two angry marks on her cheek and collar bone. He swore to himself he would find those men sometime and this time they would not escape alive. Without a word he picked her up and carried her back to their home forgetting about the wood, he could come back for that later. He still felt her tremble, her beauty was dangerous to leave unattended and in that moment she reminded him of Sansa all frail and friendless in his arms.

Back in their lodgings he sat down with her cradled on his lap, he said nothing but only held her as her shaking subsided and she fell asleep, clearly exhausted from fear and struggling to swim. As she slept he carefully moved his hand to her hair and freed the now tangled mass barely fixed there. It fell, dripping over his arm and he watched how it lightened and curled as she slept. It was growing back fast and he was pleased for he did not like how she had sacrificed even that part of herself so he could drink himself into a stupor. Loving her would never make him selfless, he was far too brutalised for that but he was learning that sacrifices she made impacted on him just as negatively so even a more selfish streak in him saw the benefits of putting her care before his own. Sandor knew then of all the things he carried, sword, memory and rage she was the most precious. It was an agonizing blessing.

Sometime later when she roused they looked at one another, her head resting on his shoulder and her eyes were focusing on him strangely as one does when coming round from slumber. Her face had relaxed as she slept and now the expression she wore was softer, the terror was gone, she was safe with him and he saw that she knew it. Such was her beauty that it was physically painful for him to behold, such a stark contrast to himself. Now he couldn't help it, he defied her statement there was no gentleness in him and he kissed her, the first time he had properly done so since buying her over three months previously.

It didn't take long for her to respond to his lips in kind, certain but gentle and Sandor tightened his arms about her, bringing her closer to him and anchoring her there. She'd agreed now and he couldn't let her go for anyone. The moment she moaned softly against his mouth his instincts and longing kicked in to throw her on the bed and ravish her like he wanted, but his mind thought back to the other day, to her belief he could not be gentle and those frightened eyes. It would take every fibre of his nature but he would prove her wrong, he would coax her out and then he would be the man to bring her to heights she didn't know. He would defy her then she would not belong to him.

Their mouths fused more passionately now but he reigned himself in, even when one of her hands snaked up his neck and into his hair, he just held her and kissed her. It was a euphoric mix when lust and love burned together as he did for her and shifting her in his arms he seated her astride his lap. With his hands on her hips she could not miss the definite desire now straining against his clothing. As he moved her the linen dropped to her waist and bending his head he soon began exploring her collar bone and breasts with his lips and tongue. As electric sensations of pleasure and desire shot through her she shifted on his lap and he growled against the soft flesh of her breasts. He had fucked her so many times yet he realised he hadn't known what he was missing and they'd barely begun. The temperature in the room seemed to rise quickly and every part of his clothing became uncomfortable and offensive, but to move now would be to lose her. Instead he continued devouring her barriers with impassioned kisses and exploring every bit of her in his reach, loving how she pushed her breasts against his hands or mouth as he did so. When he wasn't kissing her, her sighs were hot against his ear and her hips involuntarily tormented him as she writhed.

Sandor could bear it no longer and his hand slipped under the sheet and he found the place he was looking for and soon started to explore her there. Andrein's breathed sucked in sharply when his fingers first found her, but looking at him a second soon reassured her and she crushed her lips with his. Despite their growing passion he still held himself back, he would not rut at her like she was the mere vessel for his lust, for now if he could not bring her with him and release them both to an even higher place of ecstasy then there was really no point in keeping her.

Andrein's control was collapsing, she bucked against his fingers not quite understanding what she was feeling but knowing the pain, that ache he gave her was now being satisfied at last. She gripped at him, moaned against their hungry kisses and felt herself giving way to this master of hers. At last it hit her like a wave; she gripped him so hard that her nails dug into his flesh through the fabric. Her hips ground down onto his fingers and own straining lust and her forehead pressed against his as she cried out, her eyes squeezed shut. One moment she tensed and arched the next she collapsed as though boneless against him.

Sandor Clegane was now frustrated beyond belief, yet he was smiling in victory.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A.N Hello! Thank you for all the reviews, follows and faves that I continue to see. Please do keep up the R&R it makes me want to keep writing. Obviously in this fic I've started to turn the corner with regards to Sandor/Andrein but I am trying really hard not to make it OOC, must stay clear of fluff I keep telling myself. But obviously this is a love story so some sentimentality has to be in here, I am just endeavouring not to disappoint any loyal readers. It ain't going to be plain sailing happy ever after. So please let me know what you think.**_

Andrein felt herself being moved and then crushed beneath her master's weight before she knew where she was. Her mind and body were still flying high from her first taste of pleasure at the hands of her master. But for Sandor, as much as he wanted to the time for holding back was now gone, he couldn't watch that face, hear those moans and not need her right now. His hand pulled her thighs apart and in an instant he was inside of her and began to move, his body soon overtaking his brain as he drove thrust after wild thrust into her. Andrein couldn't help but watch the muscles in his arms and chest as he moved, they seemed to ripple with such urgent power he was quite the thing to behold. She'd often looked at him as he drove himself into oblivion above her, felt the feel of him inside her, there was never pain just strength, sheer invasive strength. Not now though, now she revelled in the feel of him and though it seemed too soon for her to reach those heights again she placed her hands onto his back, locked her legs around his waist and pulled him closer to her.

She was rewarded by kisses, bruising ones but kisses none the less. Sandor sensed he was not to please her this time, but to be pulled close by her now was enough; he would make her up to her later. In truth he was overwhelmed how much the sight and sound of pleasing her reduced him to the lustful impatience of a young man. His eyes dedicated the small bit of reason he still had to look at her, their faces close. When her mouth wasn't stealing the deep groans he emitted, their dewy, swollen lips were parted and she smiled at him. The sweat beaded on her forehead and he could feel it on his own, their bodies glided together with it. Her hair was fanned out untidily around her head, there was fire in those cheeks and those eyes where now indigo hypnotising him. She clung to him for dear life as he lost himself though he fixed on those eyes and lips like the north star as he drove on and on. Acceptance and affection enveloped him yet he was being as he always was, he never imagined it possible. Somehow beneath him she started to learn and several times he felt her hips rise uncertainly to meet him. Her clumsy potential made him bury his face in her neck and it only took a few more brutal thrusts as he drove her into the scrambled furs they lay on emitting a deep, satisfied noise like a roar.

There he remained for a few seconds, his weight rested upon her, dwarfed her, she truly was tiny compared to this giant of a man. It was not painful for her but he shifted his weight onto his forearms so she would not feel the burden. As he remained inside her she felt the same old sensations as before only this time, there was a heat beginning that she now recognised from when he had just brought her pleasure. She had started to build again and she knew next time she would be taken to euphoria with him. Sliding her hands up and now his drenched back she sensed the wanton part of herself that knew she was ready to feel that bliss rip through her again. Eventually he moved, like before one moment she was beneath him, the next she was yanked onto his heaving, broad chest, hearing the thunderous heartbeat slow and the rise and fall of his strong breaths becomes regular ones. Her chest was fused with his, his arms went about her possessively and at last he looked at her again. Andrein had seen that sated look before, but now Sandor looked at her completely satisfied. When fucking a whore there was the instant gratification but one somehow left feeling cheated, not only had he unleashed his desire upon the woman he wanted but now he got to keep her to. Plus there was the small matter of being incredibly fond of her which now seemed to extrapolate beyond belief.

He felt Andrein move as she propped herself up on an elbow and searched his face. Those wonderful breasts rose and fell with the swell of her own breath and he swallowed hard. As his eyes met hers he saw they were still dark and he felt her hand rest on his chest. It swept up his face and pushed back the hair which stuck to his mangled flesh; he turned his cheek and gave it a playful nip.

"You're wanton after all." He commented and he watched her blush a little as she lowered her gaze. He nudged her, dictating that her eyes should rise to his again and eventually she managed. "I want more of this."

"As you please ser." She replied, struggling not to smile in her own playful way and she received another nudge.

"I am no ser."

"As you please master." She jibed ruefully, he realised there was mischief in her frame; it made her all the more alluring.

"I wondered when the grave act would die." He mused, pulling her towards him and gently drawing a nipple through his teeth, she moaned then. "It seems I have found out how."

Andrein looked at him; her hand again brushed his cheek as she dared to ask.

"How did this happen?"

"At the hands of my brother, but another day for that." He explained. "I will still gut those men when I find them."

"Take me with you." She smiled. "I am from a fishing family remember."

"I think they found you in the water." Sandor replied in between kisses that seemed determined to coax out any energies of lust he had remaining. In theory he did but in practise even he needed a little time and that he dedicated to learning more of her.

"I was born in Maidenpool." She explained, but then her voice dipped to a flat tone. "Then sold just outside Kings landing. My father walked me through Duskendale, he told me nothing. I knew nothing."

"On the word of a sayer?"

"Yes." She replied and a small, morose chuckle escaped her lips at the pathetic sorrow of her plight. Sandor decided he despised her kin and could easily kill the sayer but then all this brought her to him. "On the word of a sayer but for the promise of coin."

Sandor had felt protective over women in the past, but they were young girls, for the first time in his life he felt bound to protect a young woman who shared his bed.

"A fresh thing like you, unplucked, he would have seen a fair price."

"I hope he spent it ill on wine and fell from the boat and drowned." She whispered and he realised she was starting to drift off to sleep. He moved his arms a little so she could feel greater comfort but this roused her again. The soft, violet colour had returned to her eyes, Sandor saw the bruises now formed on her skin. Did she know how much better she fared with him, however driven by carnal lusts he was? His fingers stroke along her neck, sweeping some of the hair up between his digits. It was not long ago there were bruises there from his hand, he stared at the place he had seen them. Andrein knew straight away what he was thinking and she kissed his shoulder where she rested.

"All heals."

"Not all." He replied.

"Every hound gets grizzled." She said kindly to him before looking down at herself. "And no meat can stay fresh."

"No more of that!" He said, anger tinging his voice, he did not like to hear her talk of herself like that, it did not put him in a good light either. He was no saint but nor had been bought her to devour her to nothing. Indeed now he could be content to have her here always, he knew that. Andrein rested her head once more on his shoulder and she said no more, she had to remember she was still his slave. His bluntness had cost him her confidence for now and she closed her eyes, he would learn to hear such things no doubt on the day she no longer uttered them.

Sandor did not sleep and he was not certain whether she did either, but together they laid stretched out, draped over one another in a place that made a half decent home. It was one step closer to a lesser hell for them both it seemed and in Westeros every step counted.


	11. Chapter 11

Andrein rose as the sun was beginning to make its way into the sky, it was early and the morning held a spring dew and clear air. She walked some way towards the waterside, her mind clear of trouble. All around was quiet save the sounds of nature, she was quite alone, quite safe. Sandor remained sleeping in bed and she imagined she would be back before he should even open an eye and notice her gone. Andrein removed her clothing and waded carefully into the cool water until it rested at her waist, then dexterously she swam out to the other side of the bank.

"_Remember." _A voice said in her head. _"A whore takes what she is bid."_

She stood on the bank now, the spring song of the birds reaching her ears. Those were the words of a man now dead, a man slain by her master the night he bought her. His friend had lowered her to the floor and had taken her only chance of honour without any dignity what so ever. It had been painful and she had cried and the affliction was repeated a few more times over the night.

"_You have to learn the ropes girl."_

His whispers and groans were hot on her ear and her stomach turned by the sour breath and feel of his grubby lips dragging over her. Andrein had felt sick at the touch, she wanted to shrink into the rough ground beneath her but all she could do was endure. By morning she had fought hard in her mind to push him out, to focus her thoughts elsewhere and spare herself the physical labours forced on her. The disgust after each episode she could never shake but she had a weapon against those who would invade her. They could take her body, but she would be absent.

Shaking off these thoughts she swam back feeling liberated and light in the morning glow. As she emerged she watched the crystal like beads rolls off her skin and she stood a while looking across the pool as she dried. Contemplation was inevitable and she thought over the failed prophecy of the sayer, the treachery of her father and the child of her master that she lost. All seemed another life today, it did not hurt her as she stood in the sun.

Dressing herself she began to forage some fruit and soon came across an apple tree. The fallouts were no good so she climbed amongst the branches, tossing down the finest specimens she came across. Her master would be hungry so she needed plenty. Returning with a bountiful crop cradled in her arms she noticed the day was still early. Her hair had almost dried into its ruby waves and she heaved a sigh of peace. So rare was a blessed morning she needed to acknowledge it.

Stepping inside their lodgings all was quiet but she saw the bed was empty. A twinge of apprehension filled her, if he had awakened and found her missing he would be angry and searching for her. Andrein had not considered recent dangers he had saved her from and despite knowing her offering and appearance would please him, her wandering would not.

Suddenly two arms seized her frame, she jumped and the apples fell from her arms and rolled to the floor with a thud. Her body was yanked back against the broad chest of her master and his hands clutched at her. His face was buried in her hair and she could feel his desire pressing against her.

"Where have you been?" He murmured thickly, the lust hot in his voice. He spoke close to her ear and nipped at the nape of her neck. Sandor's hot breath tickled her skin and his hands moved up her body until they began pushing the dress from her and he groaned. "My beauty."

His words went right through her, that ache was back and try as she might she couldn't help but indulge in it. Within seconds she found herself thrown face down, naked on their bed and without any chance of feeling fear his body hovered over hers. His weight was rested on a hand either side of her shoulders and his legs pushed hers together. For a moment she was confused and yet dazed with desire as his own legs straddled hers. His upper body lowered against her back, his skin seemed to be burning or was it hers? His mouth began kissing and nipping at her creamy shoulders as a hand moved to position himself.

Without another word he buried himself inside her fully, they both emitted a delirious moan. Sandor raised himself on his hands and he slowly pulled out of her making her mew slightly at the loss of him. Within a second he rolled his hips and pushed into her again, fitting inside her completely but making him groan like an animal. For some time he moved like this, in and out with slow, deep movements, the aim she knew to coax out her pleasure for sure this time. When she gasped louder he took it as a sign to begin to move with deep, regular movements, not a harsh rhythm but one that would have her feeling exactly how he did every time he laid with her. His actions paid off, soon they set of a momentum in Andrein that made her cries sound desperate for more. Sandor understood and with no other words between them and desperate for her he set about a faster pace. His body lowered itself as his hips rocked back and forth swiftly and when he could he kissed her shoulders and neck. His skin dragged across hers and the feel of her was heavenly, it never lessened in desire for him. Andrein could only grip the furs beneath her as their moans, grunts and cries mingled together reaching a higher and higher crescendo.

A powerful thrust finally broke Andrein and as pleasure tore through her she let out a cry so loud it was practically a scream and this tipped Sandor over the edge to his own release. Satisfaction consumed him as he claimed her as his. Exhaustion intoxicated him as he rested on his shaking arms and he rolled onto his back breathing heavily. Andrein was still laid on her front, her head facing away from him, her skin glistening like a diamond. For a while she panted and did not move and Sandor waited patiently until he could no longer bear not seeing her face.

"Andrein." He muttered gruffly, she turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were bright, her hair tousled with sweat and those cheeks burning bright. There was a deep look in her violet pools and for a moment he could only watch her. Slowly a small smile carried itself to him from her lips and she disarmed him. Gracelessly he pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms possessively and kissing her hungrily. She responded until she was quite breathless and had to pull away and Sandor realised just how tight he held her.

"Mine." He said in a low growl and he felt her head rest on his shoulder. Andrein rested there limp and content; to please him meant she was safe, that's what she told herself as being the source of her current elation for what else could there be? Never mind, she thought and decided to think no more of it, nor consider what she felt beyond the basic lust she held for her master.

Sandor had his eyes open and he sensed she was also awake though they not look at one another, he was almost amused at how well her tiny frame seemed to slot against his larger one when they laid like this. That had been the finest fuck he'd had sober in a long time, possibly ever and there was a typical male gratification within him that he'd brought her to pleasure. Despite their contented silence and recent intimacies he wanted to talk to her again as they had done last night, but he did not know what to say. Finally he realised there was something he could tell her, he could reveal about himself. Despite his affection for her he questioned for a moment the wisdom of baring his past to a slave, but then if he had his way she would be with him until someone stuck a blade in him. So where was the harm? Andrein was surprised when Sandor confessed how he got the scars on his face and the fragmented memory of his sister's demise. Andrein listened, an arm draped over his chest and circling part of his side with her finger. It was blunt and sparse, Sandor was not a man prone to great speeches, but what he said was truthful and honest, bitterness seemed to subside enough for him to speak thus.

When he had finished Andrein straddled his waist and stretching herself along him she kissed him, this was not a kiss to spark desire, it seemed to offer comfort and affection, the kind Sandor was not used to. They had reached a strange sort of symbiosis together and he was thankful for the whim that made him buy her. Despite believing herself to be a sack of meat due to give him pleasure whenever he wished for it, he sensed that she held some form of care for him and for a dog such as himself that is just what he needed.


	12. Chapter 12

_**A.N Hello everyone, I hope we are all well. Whilst reading other SC fics I nearly forgot to update my own. As always I hope you enjoy and please R&R, it makes my day!**_

The heat of a glorious summer arrived and the previous eight weeks had brought Sandor Clegane into a new madness as the woman residing with him indulged her reciprocal desire for him. Sandor sought her out whenever she would let him and their life together took on a new kind of ease. This was no romantic love affair, he sensed she cared for him and he her but in this life, losing ones head for another was not within their options. Cohabitation and survival were the key, the fact they cared for each other and she did not sob and reject him when he fucked her were only advantages of the current time. That was what he told himself, for fear and disappointment came from expectation and acquirement.

In the past week Sandor had grown conscious of a change in Andrein, she had not bled for a while and that could mean only one thing. Their current lodgings were the best it had been since he bought her and he was thankful for this. Yet they did not speak of it, until finally early one morning he awoke and saw Andrein dressed and ready to venture out. He groaned as he rose, taking her silent bidding and he dressed himself, she was a much earlier riser than he but then she did not drink wine in the quantities he did. Her fingers laced the fastenings at the top of his tunic, lightly tickling his skin whenever they grazed his chest as she worked. He couldn't help it, he roughly pulled her to him, crashing his mouth to hers. His desire was often the most rampant in the morning, even if he wasn't an early riser yet when not needed by those who paid him he had her lie in bed with him until they both felt half starved. It was inevitable then that she would become with child.

Andrein pulled back at last, a practical expression on her face yet bore with a smile.

"Come." She said and he followed her in their usual direction towards the lake. When she turned down a different path he then believed she had pulled him from bed to hunt or forage yet they bypassed several abundant trees without a second glance.

"Andrein?" He said at last, stopping dead in his tracks, she turned and looked at him. "What is it that we have risen for?"

"Do you know of Mugwort?" She asked.

"No."

"I shall show you, we need to harvest some to brew a tea." Sandor looked at her, not certain of her meaning. His confusion seemed to provoke her in some way and a haughtiness of sorts came into her voice. "You do not take my meaning? I should have imagined a man of the pleasure houses would have heard of such things!"

Sandor didn't like the tone and he liked the meaning even less, he strode up to her, invading her space and she backed away from him but he only followed.

"You seem to know plenty yourself." He growled, her eyes looked hard at him for a moment but then seeing how her words had caused a rise in him she softened herself. Her hand touched his arm and she tried to smile. "You are with child?"

"You already knew that." She replied quietly, Sandor nodded still keeping himself close to her. "You know I cannot have it."

He wasn't sure whether the words whether painful or presumptuous to him at that moment but he soon flared again with anger and holding the tops of her shoulders in a firm yet painless grip he forced her to look him right in the eye.

"You take this decision yourself."

"I am your slave." She said calmly. "Slaves and whores make poor mothers, you would not like my time diverted from you for a mewling infant. I cannot spread my legs for you with a babe latched to my breast!" Sandor cursed aloud but he held no other reply at that time, Andrein realised she was angering him all the more and wanted him to understand. "You do not want a string of bastard children polluting the Clegane line."

Sandor released her but she did not move, her hand went to touch his face but he stepped back from her.

"This decision is mine." He bellowed, it made her start and that look of fear trickled into her face again. Sandor didn't like that she was afraid of him, but in this moment anger was all he had. "I bought you."

"You did." She acquiesced which only infuriated him all the more.

"This is some method to persuade me to marry you."

"No." She said flatly. "You are of the house Clegane, you could marry a lady if you chose."

Sandor laughed at her now, he couldn't help it and the bitterness held strong in his laugh. Andrein didn't like him laughing at her; it gave her far more pain than his anger.

"Seven hells you're still a stupid girl, I will never marry a lady. A pure woman would be terrified of me."

Now it was she who laughed, a laugh that like his held bitterness. Andrein walked past him and continued to laugh to herself, she moved over to a patch of weeds growing and she knelt down.

"I was." She answered at last and he watched as she began picking a plant or two from the ground, a plant he presumed to be Mugwort. His anger raged further, did she not listen?

"Put them down." He demanded, she did so but her eyes had a hard, defiant look. Andrein was angry now, that darkness was in her eyes, it was deeper and blacker than the colour of desire and right now it made his skin crawl.

"A bastard child from an unpure woman it is then." She replied, throwing the Mugwort into the distance. "Forgive me _master_ I forgot myself a moment."

Something in him wanted to reach out to her and shake this ill feeling from them both, but he was not made that way. Bastards or no he was the last of his line, the Clegane blood would continue regardless of their birthright for what inheritance would he the hound give to them anyway? He loved the mother who carried his child but her defiance needed to be corrected. Sandor realised his words had labelled her an unpure woman in his eyes when in fact he knew none purer, that is why her presence about him and in his bed was so intoxicating. Forced as she was to this life she acted with grace and dignity to anything he asked, yet that dignity now tried to murder their child.

"Yes I am your master!" He retorted with strong will in his voice. "So no more of this, the child will be born. Do you understand?"

For a moment they looked at each other, Andrein rose and moved towards him.

"Of course."

She moved to walk past him but an impulse made him grip her arm and yank her back, it was rough and beneath him but that is who he was.

"Do not ever defy me again."

She nodded, the word master never passed her lips yet to this day neither had his name. As she walked back along the path they came he watched her, filled with love and pain at the sight of her. Sandor had no idea what he was dealing with; he was as hard as rock, prone to moments of softness and compassion but seemingly unable to live that way always. He had no desire to exalt his masterly status over her, in recent weeks that had blended into the background but now he wanted her to bare his children just as much as he wanted her about him or in his bed. Yet he could not deny his brutality, his roughness it was engrained in him like knots in a tree.

Later that evening he undressed her and led her to bed, his lips stinging with need to kiss along her skin, his body aching to merge with hers. Soon he was stretched over her, deep inside her moving in long, merciless strokes that had her back arching. Yet her hand moved to his face and he saw she looked at him with a hard expression for a moment. Still inside her he stilled and at last she breathed.

"This is your will now; you may come to regret your decision when your lack of gentleness is your stumbling block."

Her eyes closed then and they continued, Sandor was struck with the bitter, painful words but oh how he needed her, how she took over him. He moved in a way that had her splintering with pleasure beneath him, as though the more her words hurt him the more he would defy her with pleasure in return. Andrein slept on his chest her arm draped over him; despite her evident anger she was the good obliging slave always. Sandor was heart sick of her slavery, yet other than the master he could be nothing else.


	13. Chapter 13

Andrein had fully relented the dominion of her body to her master and despite their altercation over this she seemed to have forged a truce. Sandor had expected bitterness or rebuttal from her but though her belly expanded over the following two months she did not deny him. The only part which dismayed him was Andrein's strong attempts to conceal any ailments linking to her pregnancy, whenever any such affects occurred she took herself off until she could return in the state she believed he wished.

There was no defiance from her, any fight was gone and she merely got on with the new developments in their living arrangements. His affection for her deepened with every day but his gruff bluntness never showed evidence of this, the gentleness he longed to display seemed to fail him. Such frustration meant he could be more irritable, resulting in excessive drinking or prolonged silences. On one particular day when he spoke so little Andrein who sat on the bed plaiting her ever growing hair berated him.

"I pray for a call to war for you, your temper is loathsome."

He had equally snapped back at her, not meaning his ill chosen words.

"Your wish to see me on the wrong side of a blade would leave you and our bastard fending for yourselves."

That had silenced her and he thought itpained her. When she thought he wasn't looking she was more fond of the child growing in her belly than she displayed, yet he missed none of it. Her labours were handled with more care and she took to singing or humming more than before, her head always dropped towards the small bump forming. Their couplings were still intense and reciprocal, he did not cease in his labours until he drew a cry from those rosy lips every time and Andrein never shunned him from her kisses, but he knew the time would come when he could not trust his own desire to be cautious when she was heavy with child. Instead he would likely have to cease indulging such urges with her altogether, the brothel it would have to be. Yet his care for her slaked his desire for others though with a little encouragement he would rise to the occasion for a whore but he knew the damage and pain it would cause their equilibrium.

It was complicated being in such an unusual state with her, she was his slave, he exerted his authority over her yet he loved her, the question was did she love him and how much? If not at all then he could fuck whores with abandon until the birth when his urges were excruciating but if she did he could lose her. He was a man, a warrior and he did not lose his head but he also had humanity and affection and the ability to give it as he freely did. It seemed like an unsolvable riddle and she had warned him, she had known the dangers of her having a child. From her point of view the dangers were great for to lose his favour was a risk indeed, yet Sandor did not think that possible.

But one dusky late summer eve when the sky blossomed into a glorious sunset Andrein's hasty words were brought to fruition. Sandor was called to war. The ongoing struggle for the iron throne meant nothing to Andrein, nor did she understand the ever changing factions Sandor told her of. The current campaign meant he would have to leave her and she did not like it when Thrane and Sandor walked from their lodgings to discuss matters more.

Sandor returned in the dark with fresh water and Andrein put it on to boil and she handed him his meal. They sat together eating in silence and finally as they washed one another with the warm water she spoke at last.

"What is to be done then?"

"You are not accompanying me to battle. It is not safe."

Sandor expected some argument but she acquiesced without remark, instead she waited for him to continue. She washed his broad, scarred chest as he explained, her eyes never meeting his, focusing only on her task.

"I have an arrangement with a man from a pleasure house for you to reside there as a help to the girls. He has been paid so you will not have to fuck anyone. A month or two is all I shall be gone for and he has been made to understand that."

"I see." She said normally. "Is your friend Thrane doing this with his slaves?"

"His slaves are not with child, nor alone." He continued. "Nothing to say?"

"Thank you." Was her only answer and its tone had no subtext; she seemed to mean what she said. Sandor took hold of her hands in his and the action made her look at him, his face was earnest yet determined.

"If he touches a hair on your head then by seven hells I will gut him and feed him to his whores. I told him so."

Andrein's hand went to his face and she cupped his cheek, saying nothing nor smiling. Her face was straight but not grave, her eyes wide but tearless, she did not shake and she did not beg. He was her master, she obeyed his decision and Sandor could not guess her true feelings.

"Do you leave in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Will you take me to this pleasure house yourself?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." She repeated continuing her ministrations, the touch of her hands against his skin making him yearn with longing. The baser parted of him wanted to ignore her condition and take her all night, to burn the memory in both their minds but he could not have her in the way he wanted.

Once finished he took her to bed and had her seated astride his lap as he had done many times. As usual he had her release her hair and run her fingers through it or play with it as he looked on drugged with desire and affection. In recent months as it grew longer she began dragging it across his chest and face which she knew he liked, his breathing would become deep and eventually lead to a low hum rumbling from his chest. With their faces close, curtained all around by her hair he looked down her body stretched over him and he saw the small bump. There was another Clegane in there, his Clegane. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it be born healthy? His hands smoothed up from holding her waist, callous fingers dragging up her sides and becoming tangled in her hair. He pulled her down for devouring kisses, groaning heavily into her mouth. Andrein ground down as she knew he liked then took him inside of her, one of his hands returning to her waist guiding the speed of her movements, the other still weaved in her hair keeping her close.

There was something as sweet as killing, sweeter than any Dornish wine and it was this. He was greedy for it like a miser was for gold, how Stannis and any others were greedy for the iron throne. This was all glory and greed right here, watching her over him, moving inside her, living with her. He would miss it on the battle field; he would miss someone considering him more than a dog. He loved her and that was the end of it. He was capable of it brutal though he was and it made him no softer or kinder but somehow it could make him better.

When euphoria passed and they lay together Andrein held a handful of her hair and circled it on his chest as his breathing settled. All was silent and she said at last.

"You will take a whore to camp won't you?" Sandor did not answer, but the silence did. "You must, your desire is great and you will need the comfort when you're not fighting."

"Is this were you remind me that it could be you had I not forced you to birth our child?"

"I know you would not take me were that the case. You would always take a whore. Tell me I'm not right?" She said looking up at him, her hair still circling his chest, driving him mad even in his sated state. Everything she did he loved and now she physically disarmed him, yet verbally she could cut him without trying. But he would never show it, he hadn't the ability, like a dog when wounded he could only snarl and bite back.

"Only a fool asks questions they know the answer to."

"Then I'll be the silent fool."

She did not speak again, they lay together, that ticklish sensation still caused by her hair. Whether out of spite or affection she drew him into passion once more that night, still as unreadable as ever. He meant no word he said, she was no fool, quite the opposite. But her ability to know his mind was too discomforting to own, so the hound bared his teeth and she submitted and he loathed himself for it.

When morning rose she fixed his armour in place and they walked together to the pleasure house. It was early in the day and the sounds of men in ecstasy could not be heard. Andrein was introduced to Tulliver Gray, a crooked toothed man with wiry brows and a charming smile, the sort of smile that made an ideal proprietor yet he sent a shiver through Andrein. Sandor felt it against his armour yet he did not comfort her, for all he knew if he treated her softly she may betray herself and cry or was that wishful thinking on his part? He wished he knew.

The deal was reiterated, the warning given, coin exchanged and soon a young, slightly plumper, curvaceous girl came from an adjoining room and stood before Sandor and Andrein. Her name was given to be Vaena, her hair was black as pitch but long. Sandor gave a sideways glance to Andrein but there was nothing to be read there, she stood with quiet obedience and even thanked Tulliver for his protection in her master's absence.

At last the parting came and they stood face to face, Andrein reached up and kissed his cheek and she whispered.

"Enjoy the sweetness."

The last syllable faltered in her words and she stepped back from him, hardening her face and she walked into Tulliver's pleasure house. She did not watch Sandor and his whore walk away, she had not let him speak. Sandor knew he had caused her pain, that last syllable betrayed it at last, looking sideways at Vaena she smiled seductively at him. That well taught smile men pretended was saved only for them. She would bring him pleasure along with the sweet spoils of war, yet there was an unnerving feeling deep inside his gut, the feeling of guilt.


	14. Chapter 14

On a raging plain of blood and carnage where Barantheon and Lannister clashed again, one man stood out despite the smoke and debris of bodies. His giants frame cut through the darkness with deathly slowness, cutting down people as easy as shearing corn. It was long and bloody, but the sweetest thing to have the power to cut down a man with a sword. Every time Sandor Clegane returned to his tent his armour would be polished, the blood cleaned from his face and then the night existence followed. He ate, he drank and he fucked Vaena, nothing different from his usual life with Andrein only Vaena went too far too great a length to be charming. She was not like Andrein at all, her figure was fuller, more shapely and he sensed in the past she had bore a child or two. She would drink Dornish wine with him then dance and sing bawdy songs to make him laugh and laugh he did. Then with ease and gracelessness he would bend her to his will and lusts mercilessly.

On one such night he had returned and taken her, half tearing the dress from her shoulders so one breast was exposed. With that over and completed he began to drown himself in wine which she poured endlessly, the war was bloody but it was good. With her own cup in hand she danced around and he watched how her legs moved with the grace of some kind of bird. But when she sang her voice was not pretty airs like those he imagined Sansa would once sing, it had a thickness to it born of experience. Her songs were not fairytales, they were humour and lust combined.

"Kill many today?" She asked as she hummed a tune, floating around the room. Vaena always made a point to keep catching his gaze when she danced or sang, it kept the spark a whore paid to create.

"Of course."

"Too many to remember?"

"No. I counted." He replied, a large gulp of wine giving him a warm, contented feeling to couple with the sated feel of his loins. Free of his armour he was comfortable, his tunic unlaced at the top bearing dark chest hair to view.

"Should you like me to guess?" She asked playfully, circling her finger round the rim of her cup slowly. Sandor found her attractive but she constantly was the performer when he was with her. But after a day or so fighting he was happy to talk. "Fifteen?"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Fifty?"

"Keep guessing." He replied and she put down her cup and reeled off several low numbers, taking a step nearer to him, her voice lowering with each guess. Finally she rested her hands on the arms of the chair and leaned over him, their faces close. Her eyes made a conscious effort to look into his and blot out his scarred cheek.

"Don't keep a girl guessing?" She replied, her plump lips looking dry and a little cracked in the corners. His eyes stared at her mouth, it was so different from Andrein's which he revelled in kissing, those dewy lips that could do such wonderful things to him. Sandor thought about the time he sat with her injured on his lap and they had kissed, when Andrein had responded to him, desired him. He thought of the numerous times she brought him release with that pretty mouth and he thought about the times when those lips crept into a smile. Vaena saw him staring at her mouth, though there was a vacancy in his gaze, he was elsewhere. She touched his chin and raised his eyes to hers.

"Wanting me to put this to good use?" She asked and she began to kneel but Sandor grabbed her shoulders and stilled her. He wasn't in the mood for that now, he'd fucked her as soon as he arrived in the tent and that was enough for the time being. He wouldn't have thought twice of stopping Andrein. As if she was telepathic Vaena came close to his face again and whispered.

"You wouldn't stop your milky lady."

"She." He replied with a hard tone. "Doesn't wince at my fucking face."

"I look at your eyes; I like to see what a killer is thinking." Vaena replied bravely moving away from him, swaying her hips as she did so. "You'd have nice eyes if they hadn't seen so much death."

"And that would make my face easier to look on?" He laughed gruffly, downing more wine before holding it out to be refilled. Vaena approached and topped up his cup before risking a joke.

"Some things are even beyond dark magic."

Well the whore had a wit of sorts he'd give her that, he laughed, deep and almost bitter. Andrein would never have said such a thing to him; her eyes would be downcast to the floor or looking at him with those unreadable features of hers all enigmatic and seductive. Yet here was this whore, easy to fuck, easy to laugh at and even easier to grow tired of. His free hand caught her wrist and he pulled her forward and she instinctively kissed him. Her lips weren't as yielding as Andrein's and he could feel the dry skin. His hand went to thread through her hair and catching a fist full he yanked her to look at him. Vaena cried a little in surprise and he she witnessed that anger in his face.

"You find this amusing do you?" He said in a low, deep tone full of aggression. "I would find it amusing to take my dagger and cut off all your pretty hair right to the root. I doubt Tulliver would mind that."

Vaena looked at him and he felt her shake, his eyes boared into hers a moment as she fully accepted his meaning before he brusquely pushed her from him. Sandor gulped down the whole cup of wine and threw it at her feet.

"Fill it up again then keep singing."

As Vaena bent down slowly to retrieve the cup he saw she watched him from the corner of her eye, he laughed at her.

"Did you think I'd be crueller?" He jeered. "I take no pleasure in beating or raping women."

Standing from him now she looked at him again, the empty cup hung loosely from her hand. The fear had faded from her face but she was more muted, he had frightened her too much to sing.

"Come now!" He shouted with more forced joviality. "Sing."

"About what?"

"Anything that you sing in the pleasure house, whether to make a cock stand or mock another's failure too. I don't fucking care!"

Vaena still did not sing and now he was growing irritated, she stepped forward and handed him another cup of wine. He grabbed her wrist firmly but without pain again and he reiterated he would not beat her. Watching one another a moment the air seemed to relax somewhat as it had after their animalistic fucking upon his return.

"You miss your slave." She stated.

"You ask me that too often." He grunted, turning his head from her. Vaena came and sat on his knee and she began to sing some old song about an older man cuckholded by a woman. The lyrics made Sandor chuckle for they were base and crude, he even hummed along to some parts when the wine took him to a happier place. When the song was concluded Vaena took the cup from his hand and placed it by the side of them, she then looked in his eyes again and repeated her earlier words.

"You miss your slave."

"Yes."

"I like it when you admit it."

"Do you?" He snorted. "She is your better."

"A fisherman's girl from Maidenpool is likely more of a lady than many of them round here." Vaena replied feeling the warmth in her toes from the wine. "Though I wager it took a long time to get the smell of fish guts from under her fingernails."

"She's the purest thing I know."

"Why because she's only been fucked by you and one other?"

Sandor knew he should throw Vaena off his knee and frighten her but he liked the closeness in the absence of home. Part of him though heavy with drink sensed she was trying to test out his promise to not beat her by deliberately provoking him. It was courageous foolishness he'd give her that.

"Tulliver best have kept his word."

"He will if you've kept to your time." She explained. "If the coin runs out she'll be on her back paying for her keep… or maybe on her side now."

"Then he'll me tear every organ from his body." Sandor growled, disliking the threat that Vaena spoke of. She clambered off his lap and took his cup away, when he spoke to stop her she continued on, placing it by the jug on the stand. Turning she pointed to their make shift bed and said softly.

"No more wine tonight, tomorrow you must fight."

In his mind it was Andrein's voice, he imagined those words spoken by those familiar tones he desired to hear. Looking up he blotted out Vaena's semi dressed person and imagined Andrein, naked and kind inviting him to bed. His cock wanted to strain at the thought but it was made useless by the wine so he dragged his heavy frame up from the chair and staggered towards the bed. He fell face down with a groan, asleep before he hit the straw stuffed pillow and soon he snored loudly, dreaming of a ruby haired young woman holding him close to her velvety skin.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A.N Hello! Another chapter, I think this will likely end at 20 chapters. Muchos gracias for all the follows, faves and reviews so far, it makes me happy knowing people want to continue following this story. Please R&R (sorry to be repetitive but they do make me raaaaather happy).**_

Tulliver Gray was thrown against the wall with such force that several of the girls in the room heard a crack of bone. He screamed, his shoulder have dislocated and he tried to clutch it but Sandor Clegane did not give him time to. Taking his blade he held it against Gray's neck, the razor edge digging into the skin.

"What in seven hells do you mean she's not fucking here?" Sandor growled in fierce rage, his eyes wide and boaring into Gray's terrified ones. Gray tried to speak but he trembled too much and his bladder even betrayed him. Sandor levelled a blow across his cheek, breaking the bone and sending him reeling across the floor. He was about to stab him when a plump, heavily painted whore stopped him.

"Wait! Don't kill him!" She cried and Sandor turned abruptly, his fierce stare making her swallow hard before uttering. "Please."

The terror of the women surrounding him did not escape Sandor, he was used to the looks but never immune. The woman came nearer to him, her hands shaking.

"My name is Annis…"

"I don't fucking care who you are!" He bellowed.

"I… I… your slave she looked after me… she would dress me and paint me… she was kind."

"Much good it does her!"

"But he didn't make her fall on her back for anyone!" She uttered desperately. Sandor came closer, pointing his blade at her throat.

"So where is she?"

"There was a man who saw her… he's known here… he likes girls even if they're pregnant, he offered a price. Tulliver refused…"

"I'm not a fool!" Tulliver cried in response, clutching his cheek with humiliation.

"Those of us that weren't needed on a night shared a bed with her… she was never alone… but some men don't believe there's a no in a whore house." Annis explained. "So… she left…"

Sandor turned back to Tulliver and kicked him hard in the legs.

"You let a woman heavy with child go out on her own? You've seen here face!"

"She was determined!" Tulliver said pathetically and this received him another kick from Sandor.

"She over powered you did she? A woman with child?"

"She's gone home!" Annis said standing over Tulliver now and offering a look of terror filled pleading to Sandor. "Please, do not kill him."

Sandor stared at her a moment but he could see Tulliver scrambling away along the floor on his belly. With a frustrated groan he returned his sword to its sheath before marching out, offering no parting words to Vaena who had looked on silently.

Sandor mounted his horse and spurred it aggressively, setting off at a fast pace. He was furious with Andrein, she never listened, sometimes he could kill her and yet fear soon overcame his anger. Fire and Andrein were now his weak points; the raging war he was part of was nothing in comparison. He liked war, he knew war but what was he riding too now, what would he find? Had Andrein even made it back to their lodgings?

The journey seemed endless, his gut ached with turmoil and it was late night before he reached their lodgings. His heart's hopes raised a little when he saw light through the one window and he remembered all their times in this place, every look, word and bedding. This was his home, the noblest one a Clegane ever had. Dismounting he walked quietly to the window and watched, she was there, alone and heavy with child. Her time could only be a month or two away and she limbered to the fire, stoking it with encouragement. Andrein sat by the fire and sang to herself, plaiting her hair and for a while Sandor was suspended in a moment of joyful relief, all seemed well. But when his heart swelled with relief and affection it bred anger with her once more and he gracelessly barged inside.

Andrein flew up with a start, her eyes wide and her chest heaving with surprise but on seeing it was him her mouth dropped a little at the sight. For a second they gazed at one another in seeming disbelief but then he bellowed.

"How come I find you here?"

Sandor marched forward towards her but with an act of reflex she fixed her hand on the poker and placed it in the fire. He stopped dead and watched her, the warning strong in her eyes, she had changed.

"Take your rage outside master." She warned calmly. "It is not a welcome visitor here."

Her free hand rested on the swell of the bump, the other clung to the poker glowing red at the tip. Sandor took in the image of her and the meaning behind it and his anger forced itself to quell. Andrein watched him like a hawk and when she was satisfied he was calm she placed the poker slowly onto the hearth and stood away from the fire.

Taking a cup from the stand she poured him some water and slowly made her way towards him holding it out. Sandor looked at the cup before knocking it out of her hand, it spun along the floor as its contents splashed everywhere. Before Andrein could protest he grabbed her face between his calloused killer's hands and pulled himself to her, bending to press a relieved kiss on her forehead.

Pulling away he searched her face and looked over her, his face not betraying the collection of emotions churning inside of him.

"All is well?"

"Yes." She replied. "I am not as fool hardy as you think."

"I thought they had taken what is mine."

"I took myself away."

"You've grown braver." He retorted with a strange smile. "Not many have dared threaten the hound, even fewer with a poker."

Andrein smiled at him but she soon returned to her duties and began cleaning up the spilled water. Sandor watched her, her rises and kneeling were more of a struggle as he expected but otherwise she seemed strong on her feet. As she helped him peel away his armour that age old desire for her twinged inside him but he did not trust his own control being so newly arrived home, disarmed by the sight of her. But there were other things she could do, blissful things that were nearly as good as being inside her. But that wasn't just it, she was here, not dead, not raped, still bearing a future Clegane. Vaena and the pleasure house were long forgotten as was the war; here he was encompassed with her in their home.

Seating himself at a safe distant to benefit from the warmth of the fire he beckoned her to him and he seated her upon his lap. Her arms slipped about his shoulders and she rested her temple against his cheek. Possessively did those arms of his snake about her and a hand stroked up and down her back still feeling surprised he was back with her. For a while they sat together until at last she said.

"What was it like?"

His heart turned a little cold.

"The war?"

She paused a moment before answering.

"Yes."

"Great but irrelevant. Bodies piled high for no gain." He explained, her hand stroked his scalp tenderly and she pressed a kiss to his temple.

"And the whore?"

"Not you." Andrein's actions stopped and she looked at him, dissatisfied with the answer, Sandor continued. "Bawdy play acting."

"But she comforted you?"

"Yes."

There was a look on Andrein's face he could not quite determine; she seemed both relieved and sad at the same time. Another kiss was pressed to his temple and her hand massaged his head again, Sandor found himself feeling a mixture of emotions. He was not sure if taking a whore to the field with him had betrayed her in some way, to feel such a love for her yet still fuck whores seemed like something natural on a physical level yet wrong to what remained of his conscience. It was done now however and there was no crying over spilt milk.

"Can you promise me something?" She said at last and he looked up at her, her eyes were dark and he could not see to the bottom of them.

"If I can."

"One day, will you take me back to Maidenpool?"

"To see your father?"

"To see my father." She replied softly. "We will stay at his home; you will see how unlike him I am compared to my sisters. Did I tell you I have sisters?"

"No."

"Irelyn and Fearne." She continued, she sounded like a lullaby, her voice soft and low as those fingers coaxed him to relax. Heavy, calm breaths left his great frame and he listened to every word. "Then that night you'll feel me return to bed, not realising I had left it and you will ask where I have been."

"What will your answer be?"

"That I went to the house of that sayer and pierced his eyes with your dagger but not before he saw my face and I told him I had carried two children."

Sandor saw her face had hardened as she spoke; there was a firm resolve in those eyes for some form of justice from the man who cruelly decided her fate and took her from her family.

"And your father?"

"I shall continue to pray he falls from his boat and drowns, I shall leave it to the Gods."

"I would kill them both for you." Sandor said. "Do not bloody your own hands."

"You forget I tore the flesh from the mouth of that fisherman with my teeth." She said in a low whisper. "I would have struck you with that poker knowing you were terrified."

Sandor felt the hand that rested near the swell of her belly shift strongly, they both looked down. His large paw stretched over the bump and he could feel the continued movement, impatient as it seemed moving inside of her.

"He rages often." She said and Sandor removed his hand and looked at her, she was so very beautiful, yet so very jagged tonight. "He feels my own."

"You are not a killer." He said, tipping her face towards him by her chin. Andrein's hand covered her bump and she started to sing, Sandor relaxed and listened to her until it concluded. He watched her smile as the moving babe inside her calmed.

"There, he is appeased." She said before turning to look at him, their faces now so close. "Do not return to any whore houses."

"You are giving me a command?" He asked quietly, though without anger. Andrein shook her head and sighed.

"If I cannot please my master, child or not then what is my purpose? I may as well sew stones into my dress and walk into the lake."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I will bare your son, I will share you bed and I will never disobey you again, but do not return to the pleasure houses." She swore before her voice broke a little. "Please."

Sandor considered a moment, she asked two things of him tonight and he did not feel with full confidence that he could promise either. Yet if he could not try then she was right, there was no point to her presence about him. Vaena was proof that he could have a performing whore around him to sate him however he pleased, but he was tired of that. There was pleasure to be had in this woman who truly seemed to care and desire him in ways he had not known before. The future was seated on his lap, he could kill and kill and kill for sweetness, but he could have this for his life.

"Very well." He spoke at last, hoping against hope he could always honour her in the few ways he was able. She was a slave yes, but only for that final surety that she could not leave him, she was part of his flesh now an undamaged, fresh piece of himself and he could not let that go. So a slave she would be but to him she was far, far greater.


	16. Chapter 16

Sandor Clegane never imagined what it would be like to hear Andrein scream, really scream. But through the day and night that she brought their son into the world so did the screams get louder and more desperate. For a time she had been brave, groping at the furniture as she moved around despite his insistence that she did not. But she was adamant as ever to serve her master. Finally as she handed him a goblet of wine the pain became so intense that her knees buckled and he had to dart up and catch her before she fell to the ground. Then some husky voiced woman had invaded their home, supposedly with capabilities of a midwife, Sandor had paid her generously for she had not seemed in any kind of hurry. But despite her relaxed demeanour she had soon turned Sandor from the room and he had sat outside by the door, daring when the screams grew shrill to stare through the window.

Andrein's beauty was faded, contorted by pain; she writhed, screamed and used her body to force out their restless son. He recalled how many times since his return she had felt the boy stir inside her vigorously, never seeming settled and every time she had sang to appease him. Sandor and Andrein were still bound by an affection but it seemed his ill chosen decision to house her safe in a brothel for a time had twisted her to some form of cynicism. She did not look at him quite the same though there was no touch or graceful act different from how she was before he left for the war. Since then he had not touched her really, he had certainly not laid with her though she obliged him in other ways. Sometimes she would sit so quiet by the fire that he was not sure if she was the same figment of his imagination as she had been when he was away. He had kept his word though, however much his blood boiled with desire he did not visit the pleasure houses, she had warned him that her bearing his son would come at a price and he had demanded it. Thus he was paying his dues.

Now though desiring thoughts were gone, the screams emitting from her were so unnerving that he could only feel fear. The winter sun had shone upon him but when night came he had a pouch of Dornish wine to warm his bones into the early hours. He was careful not to drink himself into stupor, but he was thankful for the alcohol to steady his nerve which was wavering much to his own disgust. Should she be taken in this child birth he would drink until he did not rise again, or pick a fight with a man who could easily put a blade through him. There was nothing for him now except what was inside their lodgings, no amount of killing could compensate her being taken now.

At last in the early hours, when the chill could no longer be suppressed by wine, he heard a final piercing cry from Andrein and then the wail of a babe. He marched in without a second thought and saw Andrein boneless and limp on blood soaked sheets and a writhing, wrinkled form in the arms of the midwife who was busy rubbing him down. Ignoring the infant Sandor went immediately to Andrein and looked close into her exhausted face, her eyes were closed and she looked pale.

"She's alive." The woman said gruffly and Sandor offered her some grunt of a thankyou. "Your boy is too."

Sandor's head snapped in her direction, Andrein had been right, a boy it was. A Clegane boy, though not quite a Clegane. The woman thrust the now swaddled son into Sandor's arms whilst she attended to Andrein, cleaning up her bloodied thighs and pulling away the soiled linen. Sandor looked down at the boy, his skin wrinkled, he was tiny yet robust. The eyes squinted up and the head moved around, the boy looked uncomfortable, restless and it began to cry. Upon hearing this the woman slapped Andrein's cheek to wake her then plucked the son from Sandor's arms and forced her to hold it.

"Feed him."

Andrein was groggy and exhausted but the woman hauled her up so unceremoniously that Sandor could have struck her. His Andrein was delicate and the harrowing cries he had heard meant even he a blunderer that he was knew she needed more care. The woman yanked the dress down, exposing Andrein's breast and helped Andrein place the infant there. The boy struggled for some time but eventually they succeeded and he was quiet. He fed and then was taken from Andrein by the woman and placed in a bundle of cloth not far from the fire.

"Watch him, we might have trouble here."

The woman looked between Andrein's legs and then seated herself by the end of the bed. She spoke not a word to Sandor who was now contorted by the fear that gripped him. He checked on his son who now slept and he experienced a strange mixture of emotions that he had not time to consider now. Minute dragged into another minute and the intensity inside Sandor rose, the woman looked on at his ashen Andrein but still she said nothing. Andrein lay limp and unconscious, she looked as though she was dying but so did many woman after an exhausting birth. After some time the woman stretched her fingers inside Andrein then pulled them out shaking her head. Getting up she took a copper pan and placed more water on the boil, she ignored Sandor completely but checked on the boy.

"What in seven hells are you waiting for?" He ground out at last, turning the woman abruptly round to face him. Whatever she saw in that face startled her a moment but then she hardened herself.

"She hasn't birthed the rest."

"The rest?"

"You know nothing!" She grumbled. "But something inside her still needs to come; otherwise she will sicken and die."

"Then do something you fucking bitch!" He seethed and she did something few ever dared to do, she stepped close to him angrily, her small frame seeming to double in size as she stared hard.

"I will do my best."

Yet despite her words she merely sat by the bed again, watching Andrein like a hawk. When an hour passed the boy cried again and it took a harder slap to the cheek to rouse Andrein. This time Sandor came forward and helped her hold the child to her breast as it suckled, the midwife busied herself by the fire. At last Sandor, perched by Andrein held the baby on his lap but happened to look towards the fire. The woman had withdrawn a flat, metal apparatus held in her hand and she thrust it into the flames. His skin crawled as he saw it begin to glow red and he dreaded the next actions of the woman.

"What are you doing?" He growled, rising and standing in between her and Andrein. The woman retracted the tool from the fire and let it rest on the hearth to cool. Again that defiant, irritated look filled her face.

"It needs to come, I shall have to try and get it out."

"You will hurt her!"

"Look at her, do you know what it does to a woman to birth a child, I cannot do much more damage. But if the rest does not come she will be dead within days."

Sandor turned away with a frustrated groan, of all things to approach Andrein with, a nasty looking tool scorched by the fire was the worst. He remembered when she had brought the poker to his shoulder, how he had almost struck out at her in fear. Now he wondered if his nerve would snap as this woman brought such a thing to Andrein, that he may strike her and kill her. The woman sensed his unease; his whole body was rigid like iron.

"Stand by the door, take a good look at your son and do not turn your head." She instructed and Sandor did just that. The boy was easy to hold in his two giant hands and casting one final glance back to a sleeping Andrein he stared down into the boys face. The woman could be heard shuffling behind him and the fire seemed to crackle at a tormenting volume.

The boy had the darkest hair, black like jet and though his features were a little squashed he thought he recognised his nose, but one thing was certain he had the Clegane chin. The woman was near the bed now; he knew it and he willed that his son would open his eyes so that he would not think of that flat, iron tool. Andrein murmured, then a little louder, Sandor prayed the boy would open his eyes. Andrein was sobbing now, murmuring something unintelligible and at the sound of his mother's voice the boys eyes opened just enough and that's when he saw it. The boy held the same violet eyes as his mother, Andrein cried out loudly and at his mother's distress the boy began to cry. Sandor turned his head and saw the woman heaving a bloody mass towards the fire with her hands, tossing it idly there and he watched it burn away. Andrein was doubled over, clutching her stomach and crying and Sandor could only stand there dumbfounded, wrought by a physical pain at the suffering of her and the sobs of his son. What had he asked of her?

"It is out." The woman said, ignoring Andrein's cries for she no doubt had seen this many a time before. "Give the boy to me."

The woman took the boy some steps away and soothed him with a song, Sandor dared to approach the now conscious Andrein and having to face her seemed harder than ever before. She looked up at him, clutching hard at herself and there was a pleading in her eyes, a pleading to end the pain. Sandor had seen and heard so much pleading in his time but nothing brought him so wretched as now, it was natural and every woman he knew agonized after a birth but he did not love them, he loved Andrein. Sitting himself on the bed he did the only thing he could think of, the thing she did herself to bring him comfort at low times, he threaded his fingers in her hair and proceeded to massage her scalp.

A further day passed and the woman was long gone, Andrein she said would have to bear the pain and concentrate on her son. Sandor had helped her into some form of seating position but tears fell silently from her cheeks for hours in between fits of sleep and feeding their son. They barely spoke; it was like she was not with him, like her spirit had been stolen away by pain. Four more days past, he brought her food and wine, encouraging her silently to eat or he took the boy from her so she could sleep. On the fifth day she tried to stand, he caught her twice and ordered her back to bed and finally they spoke properly.

"A mother must rise above the pain." She uttered, scrambling and groping over to the sleeping boy with the help of their sparse furniture. When the boy cried she fed him, despite her own fatigue she sang and cradled him but there was no smile there and her eyes were dim. Sometimes the look of her overcame him so much he had to leave, taking a pouch of wine with him and once or twice returning inebriated. Andrein had not the energy to berate him for this, for when her son did not need her she slept. On the sixth day as she slept Sandor strapped the boy to his back and carried her to the lake, onlookers stared at the wan girl in his arms and the sleeping infant with looks of unwelcome curiosity and he swore at them all.

When he placed her down, Andrein was awake and groggy but she saw the water. She stripped down and he watched her progress uncertainly into the depths. The boy was placed on the floor, nestled in several layers of linen and Sandor waded in to help her. Without a word he helped her wash, noting how the contours of her body had changed, yet he still adored every bit. As she washed Andrein seemed to revive a little, she was of the water after all and as he took her arm to guide her out she turned and thanked him. Determined to walk she took up her son and slowly they returned to their lodgings. Andrein fed the boy then placed him on the bed before coming to face Sandor, her close proximity making him nervous.

There was some colour in her face and the eyes seemed a little brighter and he was thankful that there seemed to be some of that familiar softness in her features.

"He needs a name." She said. "He is yours."

Sandor had not even contemplated such a thing, his pure concern had been the survival of both and the contemplation of his life should they not. His blankness prompted her to touch his cheek, bringing his focus back to her. He could not help pressing his cheek into her palm, the first vulnerable act she had seen him ever betray and she stroke the skin with her thumb.

"Name your son." She continued.

"I do not know." Sandor replied. "You are free to name him yourself."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"I see that as a gift."

"What is it to be?"

Andrein considered for a moment, chewing lightly on her lower lip before her eyes rose to meet his, a maternal softness now consuming them and she smiled.

"Callan." She said. "A boy born in war and battle."

Sandor looked into that loving face, the face which once again smiled at him and like many other times he was so grateful for the moment the whim came upon him to purchase her. The world was at war, yet this small part mattered more than any throne. So the boy was named, Callan son of Sandor, the man who was no Ser but a master.


	17. Chapter 17

In the forthcoming weeks Andrein like any other mother hit the ground running dealing with the new life relying on her. Despite any resentment she tried to show whilst she carried Callan, there was none of that now. The two males in her life now absorbed her world, one a tiny version of the huge, dominant other. Sandor found the new addition both trying and earth shattering, every time he looked at the child for long periods of time he was absorbed with such a strong bond of love he never thought it possible. He imagined he would care for the boy but in a manner that still held an aloofness, but instead there was an intense possessiveness and urge to protect Callan and his mother more than ever before. Sandor knew he was not a 'good man', he was only a human and the wailing and attention Callan demanded could grate on his nerves but the boy had his mother's eyes. Sandor wished he had a house to leave to Callan one day, but the Clegane's were back in the gutter again. He would do what it took, kill whoever it took to provide for them both, he would raise them to somewhere better than this. He would never be a Lord or a knight, but he could not live with the self loathing of baring a family in the gutter.

After an absence of a week he returned bloodied and exhausted from another bloody excursion, in need of drink and Andrein looked after him. It did not escape his notice that when night drew on she would dip her fingers in wine and watch Callan suckle on them, the result usually being that he barely murmured for several hours. In that time Andrein always fought to stay awake, to seat herself on his lap and talk with him, even make him laugh with tales of fighting boys from her village as a child. But her lids would grow heavy and many a morning she would wake to find herself placed in bed, roused only by the needing Callan. Sandor's feelings for her had not changed, if anything they had deepened and grown more intense, she was now not only a woman to share his bed, but she was the mother of his child and this gave her some strange new allure that he could not put his finger on. Callan would likely not be the last child they would have, though he did not want to be one of those men constantly getting his woman with child, such women grew run down and lifeless. He would watch her all the time, doing menial tasks, caring for Callan or even when she slept and that desire to be near to her frustrated him. He had longed for her for many a month now, the days rolling on to which he counted Callan being nearly five weeks old. Andrein was no fool, several times when she had managed to be awake she had sought him out, her hand reaching between them to stir his lust whilst she sought out his lips yet he could not relent. What was stopping him he did not know, it wasn't to make himself a martyr he knew that, yet he desired her no less. But to court his desire meant he would lose his self control and devour her with ravishment as he always did and now was not the time for such lack of abandon. His hand would still hers and his mouth would not envelop those lips in passionate kisses, instead he would circle an arm about her, encouraging her to sleep.

Sandor often left the house on a daily basis on some pretext or another, but inevitably he would find himself cooling his urges in the lake and other times conjuring up an image of her to relieve himself. These actions however had their cost, for all his care he did not explain himself, that was not his nature. As the sixth week of Callan's age approached Andrein stopped reaching out, she quietened and he would catch her far off looks as she fed their son. Slowly she was retracting herself from him again, becoming distant in mind as she was when he first brought her to live with him. Such a change was a catalyst in bringing about his old vices too and Andrein only watched as he brought back three wineskins full of Dornish wine back with him one late afternoon. As he emptied one without effort he knew she was watching him like a hawk, what was she thinking? Did she imagine the drink would cloud his judgement and he would demand some sort of right over her, grab out at her like the time he had frightened her. He would not, the wine helped quell his growing resentment of their situation and desensitised him from the pain he felt at this indifference she adopted. Yet to his surprise when he emptied the first she held out the second, those violet pools almost daring him to drink it. It was practically snatched from her hand, though the only person he was angry with was himself. Rising he staggered over to his son who was awake yet quiet and he found himself staring at him for a long period of time and the boy stared back with the eyes of his mother. Sandor was proud, the boy was strong and well and the wine allowed a warm rush of feeling to slip through his body. Andrein's gaze could be felt on his skin, he knew she watched him from across the room as she sat sipping on the third wineskin herself. The feeling it created could only end two ways and Sandor refused to let it become bitter, his feelings eating him away inside, instead he took the heart warming sight of his son with him towards the bed and soon he dozed upon it.

Sandor awoke with the feeling of her hands on his chest, the longing of lust strong in his groin and he opened his eyes. Andrein had seated herself on his lap, her beautiful skin completely bare and glowing from the light cast by the fire. Groggy though he was he watched her through half closed eyes and felt the delight of her taking him inside her slowly. Despite missing the feel of her he wanted to protest but somehow he was rendered mute by the wine and her presence. She did not look at him exactly, she was concentrating and he watched how sensations and feelings swept across her face as she lowered herself. Buried deep inside her his instinct was to move, every impulse screamed at him to do so but he could not, there was something in her eyes that told him of danger were he to move, she had taken the step, the choice was hers. When she began to move an involuntary low groan left his lips, it did not distract her but for a moment her eyes met his, she looked unsure but he could not seem to focus enough to speak or act. Damn the wine, had she planned this? His head swam and his body focused all its energy on that one part of him that was being attended to at last. The movement of her hips was slow, cautious but to him it was delicious torture, the kind he'd always wanted her to take the initiative with but she had not for he was her master. To see her above him now even hesitant brought such intense admiration and longing to kiss her that he was not sure if he was under some form of witchcraft. He was Sandor Clegane, the Hound, he was neither soft nor sensitive yet he was in her power right now.

Andrein moved ever so slightly quicker, he heard some small gasps pass her lips but when he looked in her face again he saw her feelings did not match his own. Tears gathered in her eyes and her slow burning rhythm faltered and finally ebbed to a close. Biting her lip in frustration from some evident pain she clambered off him and moved to the fire to dress herself. The loss of her made him groan again, it was the only audible plea he could seem to give for his brain was too hazy to form words, yet the noise made her look at him crushed. He knew then, she read that utterance as irritation. He watched her turn from him and pick up their son, holding him up onto her shoulder, cradling him close and she proceeded to sing softly. The song soothed his own ears yet fight as he could and despite much unresolved longing he once again slipped into unconsciousness.

It was a throbbing that first began to rouse him from the deep sleep induced by the wine, a longing and a pleasurable sensation shot through him and he opened his eyes a little. Had mere seconds just passed? Somehow he knew they couldn't be for the invasive winter sun streamed through the narrow window and the fire had died out. A hand stroked up and down his chest and then swept across his breeches, he was still clothed. Despite a sore head he heaved a sigh of contentment; the morning was bringing with it a correction of errors from the night before, soon they would be close again and all would be well, he'd show her that. Her soft female form laid alongside him, pressing herself close and that hand kept its enticing, hypnotic slowness.

"My beauty." He murmured thickly.

Lips pressed against his neck then went up to his ear, drawing the lobe playfully through teeth. Sandor's eyes flew open and he jolted his head sideways with such speed that the hangover rolled mercilessly in his head. This was foreign to him yet vaguely familiar, his brain was confused as his eyes focused and overcame the bewilderment. He was faced not with his Andrein in the cold light of morning, late morning as he guessed but the seductive smile and wide eyes of none other than Vaena.


	18. Chapter 18

There is no such cold like that of the chill of the soul. Its shivers freeze even tears if a person is left too long in its frozen expanse. The world in which she walked was held in the freeze of winter but that did not harm her as she walked, her boy swaddled and strapped to her back. There was a glistening hue over everything touched by the weather, crystallised beauty reigned with its harshness. But Andrein's internal chill weathered her soul as she walked and it was the most painful feeling. She was not ready to be his slave again in her primary purpose however much she desired it, last night there had been pain but that had soon given way to fear as she retreated. All night she had laid, her mind racing with ideas and at last rising early she had fetched Vaena to her home. The promise she had made Sandor give her turned over and over in her mind but she realised it had been foolish. Did this lesson the pain? No, it made it more acute, its barb was sharper, its penetration deeper.

Now by the familiar bathing spot she stopped, Callan had begun to murmur and she had walked to their destination as quick as she could. Holding him close she fed him, gazing down into his face knowing she was holding a piece of Sandor that even death could not take from her. Despite her ill feelings about what was happening back at her lodgings she was also heartsick with a restless energy that grew ever stronger since she gave way to her feelings for him. Feelings which demanded no restraint and yet were trapped whatever her master said to her, she was harnessed. Placing a well wrapped Callan on the floor she scoured nearby for something to skim across the partly frozen waters, to see if she could break the ice and free the depths below. Collecting a handful of stones she threw them one at a time across the expanse but none of them broke through, she did not have the power. For the first time she considered what it would be like to drown, to be swallowed up by the depths of the water never to be seen alive again. Her large, plum eyes fixed on the horizon and it was not long before she felt a few tears spill onto her cheeks and she let them rest there a while until the cold tried to freeze them against her skin.

Andrein remembered a time young in her life when she and her sisters were beaten by their mother for allowing a catch to spoil in the sun. For a time after Andrein had hated her mother, she had taken the punishment deep to her heart and her mother knew this. One day her mother had dragged her off to watch her father depart in his boat, they had stood alongside one another on the bank and she had said to her.

"_You think too much about the action I took, you must remember that any action holds a deep reason. To punish you once would prevent you from suffering later, small pain to avoid greater."_

With every word her resentment of her mother ebbed and it was washed away like a leaf down stream. When her mother died her heart had been full but the only bit she remembered from the incident were those words on the river bank, never the beating. Andrein had understood then that pain was often needed to avoid greater pain and it was a thought that always remained with her. To deny herself much of what she wanted from her master spared both of them the excruciating stalemate between them of mind against body. Only why was it so hard?

Two hands seized her suddenly and she was flung around on the spot and Sandor's face came dangerously close to her own flushed with the darkest anger.

"What in seven hells are you doing?"

Andrein flared inside, the restlessness was back, the lesson strong in her mind and she started to struggle against him. It made little difference for he was far physically superior and soon he threw her over his shoulder, picked up Callan from the ground and marched them both towards his horse. Flinging her over the beautiful beasts back he began to fix his son to his back and Andrein took advantage striking him hard in the face and running to the water's edge. Her feet splashed into the shallows, the freezing chill stabbing at her skin like knives. A livid Sandor stood a little way from her now and he shouted.

"You can swim out to any part of this fucking bank but I will bring you back!" He finished strapping his son to his back as he continued. "Either that or you'll freeze to death."

"Give me my son!" She warned and he only laughed.

"To join you and the other water nymphs?! You can go wherever you like but one word that you're my slave and you'll always end up back here with me! But you're too stupid to accept that!"

With pain overwhelming her and knowing he was right she stepped from the shallows but remained by the edge. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated and there was a desperation in his anger that frightened her all the more. Coming forward he gripped her shoulders, hauling her away from the water altogether.

"You slip out early to send a whore to my bed to make me a liar!" He growled, feeling culminating in a desire to kill her and kiss her with equal measure. He could snap her neck with one hand but right now he was only determined to break this wilfulness of hers that confused him so much. "I threw her from that bed, I had no desire to fuck her. I am waiting for you and you think you can lure me to bed another."

"Whilst I cannot give you what you want I thought it was my duty…"

"Shut up!" He roared , shaking her a little too hard and she cried out. The sound of her made him loathe himself and he released his grip. Callan wailed uneasily from his back and now as he calmed he looked her in the face. Those eyes that looked upon him with fear were heavy and red from recent tears and her frame was limp. Sandor loosened the bonds fastening his son to him and he handed him over to be soothed by Andrein. She rocked the babe to reassure him but her face spoke of nervousness. "You are mine, do you understand? I am a hound, you a whore and he is bastard. These are the names they give us, the parts we play."

"Why are you so fond of reminding me?" She said flatly. "Do you have any idea how I want each of those three words to stick in your throat."

"I did not give us these names." He explained, his frustration still present though he was willing himself to speak calmly. "But I am determined to take them from you."

"You cannot."

"I can. You will marry me, House Clegane is of no power but the name will spare you both."

Andrein looked down at her son, he was already a Clegane, his father's features were proof of that. With every word he uttered she loved him, he was blunt to the point of hurt but she had known none kinder.

"The night you bought me gave me the name. I pour you wine and we fuck, I have born your bastard and I remain at your beckon. When I cannot do these things I realised last night that I know none better than you and whilst I cannot perform my function I must spare you disappointment."

Sandor swore several times, he paced a little with fury, her words frustrating him beyond belief. When he looked at her he could barely comprehend her.

"Are you saying you will not marry me?"

"It is only the same bindings by another name, slave is far more honest than wife in the light of day." She said trying not to let the tears come into her eyes, now was not the time for tears.

"Get yourself home!" He bellowed and she scurried past him, Sandor did not set off straight after her. In truth he was confused, he understood her notion that he always needed a whore in his bed to fuck but he did not understand the blatant defiance to see what he felt for her. To see his proposition as a further attempt to bind her to him rather than a way of showing her the importance of her in his life infuriated him.

They passed the day in silence, he sharpening his blade whilst she cooked broth over the fire. At last when night set in she placed Callan against her breast to suckle, her feelings calmer and knowing that to talk was the only way they could truly understand one another. Sandor sat across from her barely nursing a wineskin, instead he kept his eye on their son as he fed and finally looked up at her face.

"Do you remember how he raged in my belly?" She said softly, her voice tired, Sandor gave a nod that tried to look distant but his eyes were too deep for that lie. "He raged because he could feel my own."

"Do you hate me then?" He replied. "At least you took the time to find me hateful beyond my face, I should be thankful."

"I know what I am to be as a slave, I was taught one night on the cold ground. You have always treated me well."

"But you still hate me."

"What reason have you given me to hate you?"

"You thought me a reasonable man, but you're wrong. I like to kill best of all and when I'm not doing that I like to fuck and drink. Having you here and being part of the war has given me all of those things. But it has not made me a liar."

"I know it."

"But you tried to make me one this morning, imagining that girl would make me break one of the few promises a man like me dares to give. There is little to a dogs promise, only blind loyalty, like it or not I have pledged that to you."

"It seemed wise at the time, but as I walked I knew it had been a mistake. I want to do right by you, you've been a master I did not think possible."

"You did not dream of this on your father's fishing boat as a child." He said bitterly, taking a deep swig from the wine skin, a small part dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"I do not know how to be your wife, it would seem like I was merely a whore who took a name."

"I did not ask you because I thought you were a whore, I didn't even ask you for the sake of the boy." He stopped, his words refusing to flow from his tongue. He grumbled low to himself and she could watch only as his eyes dropped to the wineskin in his hand. Callan was fed and Andrein placed him in his bed close to the fire, she looked down at his sleeping form a moment.

"He is the greatest demand you made of me." She said turning to look at Sandor. "The moment he was in my arms I knew that. Maybe he is to be the best of both of us."

There was a silence between them but Andrein neared Sandor watching him as he drunk his way through the wineskin.

"I rage against what a slave reduces me to be, I never rage against you, what it restricts me from feeling for you." She said her hand pushing the hair from his face. He caught her wrist in his grip and looked at her. "I only wish I had the freedom for you to see me how I wish to be seen."

"You wish me to free you?" He surmised and she nodded. "You give me too much credit; I would not stand living with you walking away from me."

"Why is that?"

"Because there's the sweetness of killing, there's wine and women out there but I find myself here. Here is the House Clegane, what it has been reduced to. Yet there is more honour in a word from you than any breath of my brother's."

"I would never walk from a man who valued me so high." She said softly, stroking his damaged cheek. "But that means more when I have the freedom to do so."

"I have your word you will not leave?" He said, gazing at those hypnotic eyes of hers all enveloping. Andrein shook her head, he understood that meaning but he was still afraid to take the step. For a moment they looked at one another before he dropped his eyes, Andrein sighed and moved to the bed lying on her side.

"Sleep then." He said. "As a free woman."

Sandor rose and left their lodgings before she had a chance to protest, her eyes remained glued on the door where he had so abruptly left her. Her heart was full and she was free, he was truly the most honourable man she knew.


	19. Chapter 19

_**A.N Hello again, I hope everyone is having a lovely summer. Just to say thank you for all the reviews, faves and follows for this story, after this chapter I think there'll only be one more so thank you for all your support as I have been writing. Any further reviews would be greatly appreciated as always but so far your comments have really made my day!**_

The fact that Sandor returned to their lodgings drunk several hours after declaring her free did not surprise Andrein. He clearly valued her but he did not trust her enough to be here upon his return, yet late at night she sat by the fire, her long hair drying into waves and her son sleeping soundly, everything was as the usual. He stumbled in and she immediately raised a hand to remind him to be quiet but it was no use, his great lumbering frame was so intoxicated he dislodged the table. Callan woke with a start and began to cry, it ripped through Sandor's head and he groaned heavily. Staggering towards the bed he fell face down upon it and soon he snoozed deeply. As Callan's own cries were soothed by his mother, Sandor's snores grew louder and Andrein stood by the bed looking over him. He lay sprawled out like a great beast brought low in a hunt and Andrein saw there was no room for her in their bed tonight. Instead she lay out by the fire side, warmed by the flames as she drifted off to sleep.

Upon waking Sandor first acknowledged the great roar within his own head as a hangover kicked in relentlessly. As he groggily hauled himself onto his side he took note that Andrein was nowhere near him. Looking about hazily he spotted her, now huddled sleeping by the fire which had long died out. She was not covered and her posture told him she was obviously cold. Dragging himself up he ignored the ache that felt akin to a Blacksmith hammering an anvil and he scooped her up gracelessly in his arms. Andrein fully awoke with a murmur when she was dropped ceremoniously onto the bed and Sandor roughly pulled her too him, wrapping his arms about her possessively. Her bleary eyes looked up and she saw he was already on his way towards sleeping again. His eyes looked strained though closed. She was thankful to him for she was sleeping lighter from the cold happily threw an arm of her own over him before returning to sleep.

When the day brought Sandor to his feet again he sat with still drooping eyes and an aching head. Andrein did her best to keep Callan's cries to a minimum, more than once she used the little wine that was left to encourage her son's sleep. Whilst Sandor sat and suffered her own actions were more productive as she worked on some new clothes for Callan and even herself. She knew Sandor watched her through the haze of his condition and he seemed to come round later in the day when she at last offered him some broth.

"I am to war tomorrow." He explained.

"I shall remain here if you do not mind."

"You are a free woman you can go where you please." He said almost put out.

Andrein came over and touched his face before leaning in to kiss him, he still did not relax his furrowed brow. Instead she sat upon his lap and threaded her arms about his neck. For a moment he was rigid but he was not immune to her close presence about him, it made him relent into relaxation. He saw her smile at this, that glint in her purple eyes daring to show itself. Pulling her close to him he hungrily kissed her mouth, leaving her short of breath yet flushed with heat.

"Now you're not a slave anymore." He murmured low in her ear. "Tell me what you want."

"Just you." She replied kissing the scarred forehead exposed to her. "You might be a brute, but you're worth every moment."

Their kisses resumed again and his hands roamed her body with lustful impatience and she soon felt the top half of her dress yanked down, exposing her much fuller breasts. Sandor used his hands and lips on every bit of her he could soon having her utter distracted mews until at last she pushed away from him using his shoulders.

"I cannot my love."

Sandor did not seem to focus on her ending his ministrations but instead he looked hard into her face, searching her eyes with almost a scowl.

"You should not say such things."

"I am a free woman am I not?" She said defiantly giving him a nudge. "I may say what I please. If you cannot bear to hear it and must take solace in your wineskin then I shall get up and fetch you it of course. But do not think for a moment what I say is a lie."

Sandor said nothing and Andrein began to move off his lap until he yanked her back, seizing her face in between his two giant paw like hands. There was no pain but she could not have escaped the grip if she used all her strength, he stared at her for the longest time but she was happy for him to do so for he was searching for the truth in her features.

"How can you feel such a thing, my beauty?" He asked incredulously. "When I have kept you thus."

"Sandor of the House Clegane." She said, using his name for the first time. "I could have been kept far worse. In fact I believe you have given me more."

"How so?" He asked, he was beginning to believe her words but part of him still did not dare to. He watched as a rueful smile lit up her face and that look in her eyes was back.

"So memories I think could not have been made living in Maidenpool."

Sandor's hands released her face and he smoothed them down the sides of her body, resting them at the pale flesh of her waist. He recalled every moment with her he could remember, every kind look, action and every time he had moved within her. All these things had made him love her, but just to say those words seemed inadequate and strange coming from his own mouth. Andrein seemed to know this and once again a hand touched his face.

"Should you like me to remain with you?"

They looked at each other a long moment and at last he answered.

"Yes."

"Until?"

"Until I am killed." He spoke with the deepest earnest she had ever heard from his lips, his hands moved to her back and he pulled her to him in an embrace that seemed vulnerably unlike him. He may be a killer and brutalised, but there was obviously a part of him yearning for acceptance from someone willing to offer it. Andrein was, she had been for a long time. They remained embraced for a short while until Andrein pulled back to give her answer.

"Then I shall." She said with a smile and her hands moved down his broad chest teasingly and she began to loosen the fastenings of his trousers. She shifted off his lap and knelt on the floor, he leaning down to kiss her furiously as her hand stroked his length teasingly. "Always."

There were sixty five days and nights of battle that followed and he seemed to hear those words with him every time he severed a man's life with his sword. The glory of killing now coupled with the need to survive, to get home. This was like a hunt, a fun diversion that would end and then return to the everyday world. Sandor Clegane never cared who he fought for, he barely cared for anyone. In the past he had shown the good of the antihero by trying to spare both Arya and Sansa from the cruelties of the world. Now however someone was there to try and spare him from them also. As he rode home he tried to imagine what change awaited, he hoped the Gods would be kind and he would see a much stronger son who continued to grow and someday be the man neither he nor his brother had been for their name. He found Andrein outside chopping up a large branch with cheeks heated from frustration, before anything else, before any embrace or welcome he took the hatchet from her and effortlessly finished the job. All was well, not as though from a fairy story but as though for even a short time he would receive some form of justice for what horrors he bore as a child. No man with good in him deserved a life of scorn and ill treatment and in these moments it seemed Sandor Clegane was receiving some kind of recompense. The sight of his son whose dark hair sprouted into curls was a welcome view after blood and guts. The ambition of another's war grew tiresome after all. How long this would last he did not know, but quietly he dared to thank a God.

Later with their son sleeping it was Andrein who took him to bed, sitting above him and moving her hips with excruciating slowness at his request. She imagined he would be burn with impatient desire and at first had moved faster, but his hands had slowed her and she acquiesced to the teasing drag of her hips, doubled by the playful dragging of her hair over his chest. After some time he saw the lust overwhelm her face and lowering her face to his she kissed him before moving her hips at a brutal rate. He wrapped his arms possessively about her, holding her to him as he responded in kind, not letting her be away from him again. He wanted to have her on her back, to drive her with the madness he felt, the madness that she now dared to show him properly but he didn't. Not far from the end she squirmed from his grip and soon rode him into oblivion with her hands resting on his scarred torso. Sandor reached a sharp peak with such force at how marvellous she looked moving above him without abandon that he could not help but almost roar. Andrein fell against him, panting and boneless, her heavy breaths joining his, their pleasure equal.

"You're mine!" He reminded her at last and she grated a nail against his chest.

"And you mine."

He was hers and he would not let her forget it, in the intervals of feeding themselves or their son they sated their desire for one another, sometimes one just showing love for the other. All this and not one drop of wine had passed his lips since his return, clearly killing and Andrein were his best tonic for life. At last they ate the last few scraps they had in their lodging, Callan lay on the bed before them squirming, giggling and trying his best to move onto his stomach, he had his mother's restlessness indeed. Life could be good sometimes, indeed life could be very good.


	20. Epilogue

_**A.N Hello! Thank you to anybody who read all the way through his and faved/followed and special thanks to those of you that reviewed. I really appreciate it. This is the epilogue to Andrein and Sandor's story. I found it quite hard to know how to end it as I wanted to do justice to Martin's Sandor so it's a risk writing how I think the character would love. I said I didn't want to be all fluffy so I hope I've avoided it as best I could. No infringement intended obv George RR Martin owns all I just played with it a bit. Please do review and let me know what you think still, it's been a real pleasure writing this and I hope people have enjoyed it.**_

**Epilogue**

Sandor was away again, the war still raged on far from their lodgings and Andrein knew a day would come when it would be upon their door. Unlike previous times Sandor would not discuss his impending departure with her, sometimes he would turn silent, others he would gruffly cut her off. Now free of her bonds as a slave she would give him more of her mind when he chose to behave thus and little did he know it was because she was now terrified he would be killed. Andrein had never seen Sandor's strength and formidable prowess on the battle field, how he could cut down men like wheat for lengthy periods of time. She held Callan close, bouncing him lightly on her hip, her lip trembling with silent worry as Sandor attached his sheath to his waist and placed the freshly sharpened sword inside it. His eyes flicked back and forth from her face and he knew her mind but to speak of it may bring her to girlish silliness and he did not want that, or that's what he told himself. He knew she was no silly girl, but she was a feeling woman and discussion would only increase her anxiety he thought.

Andrein walked alongside him as he prepared his horse, Sandor kissing both their heads before climbing onto the beast. He listened to his son's gurgled laugh as Andrein showed him the animal and then when his eyes met hers she gave him a small smile, holding up her free hand. Like a true knight, the knight so many in Westeros should have been he kissed the back of it before kicking at the stirrups and riding off from her. That dropping feeling at the pit of her stomach ached and she distracted herself by lifting Callan up and down playfully to make him laugh and they returned to the solitude of their house. The boy was a loving one, he smiled at her and made his need for her known often and Andrein found that between he and his father they quite consumed all of her affection. It was intense and showed no signs of burning out. But the large bed seemed cold and lonely without her gruff titan to share it with, his presence about her was such a large part of her life in every respect that she was truly dwarfed more in his absence.

Six nights passed and in the middle of the night Andrein woke sensing someone was in the room, the fire had all but died out and there was not much natural light at all. In the darkness she sensed someone stood by her son's bed and the maternal protective instinct hardened within her and slipping her hand beneath a pillow she pulled out a dagger he had bought for her, gripping the cold metal in her hands. She pulled back the cover slowly and stealthily crept from the bed, making slow pursuit towards the intruder. Andrein was worried her heartbeat would give her away for it hammered with terror in her chest and she forced her breath to remain in her throat. What kind of attacker was she about to face, could she even overpower him? Andrein was only a foot or two from the shape now who stood bending over the cot and she gripped the handle tighter, her palms perspiring. She was as ready as she could be.

Suddenly the shape jerked round and grabbed her wrist with seamless precision and her grip on the dagger trembled.

"Well done my beauty you might have managed to sneak up on anyone else." A familiar low tone spoke out in the darkness, Andrein thought she was hearing things and gripping the blade tighter she pointed it towards the man as best she could. "What did you intend to do with that?"

The tone changed to a small laugh and she knew with no uncertain terms that it was Sandor, relief tore through her and she dropped the dagger and let out a deep breath. Sandor placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her and she sensed he was examining her in the dark.

"You're alight, Andrein" He stated.

"How can you tell?" She breathed.

"I've seen and done many things in the dark."

"I don't doubt it." She said, her voice steadier and so he let her go. Sandor watched her shuffle around for a minute or two and soon a warm glow lit the room from the fireplace. Returning to him she saw he was unscathed and unbloodied and she began to move to undress his armour. Sandor stilled her hand again.

"Not yet."

He saw suspicion move to her face, her eyes narrowed a little and the smile that she had worn straightened itself out to nothing. Part of him wanted to smile all the more at this but he knew if he moved to she would be angry, it was best not to provoke her. Andrein scanned his appearance and she made a deduction, her eyes hardening.

"Where have you been?"

"You sound like a wife saying that…" He said, trying not to smile, for someone who tried to remain steeled her worried love was abundantly clear.

"As the mother of your son I ask."

"Far." He replied. "Does that make things better?"

"You've not been to war have you?"

"No."

Andrein moved away from him and checked on Callan, she did not make eye contact with him again and he watched as she moved to the bed and limply sat on the edge of it. Sandor knew what she was doing, she was contemplating how to act. The laughter bubbled inside him now, it was not at her expense but the truth was a revelation he was barely able to hide. But to unveil it required some earnest first and he approached her carefully and did something unlike him. Instead of seating himself by her he pulled up a lower chair and sat in front of her, his face lower than hers.

"Say what you have to say." She said quietly. "I'm ready to hear it."

"As a free woman I would like you to reconsider becoming a Clegane."

"That was on your mind was it whilst you were away?"

"It is a name that will not bring you anything but I know I want you to take it."

"I think you underestimate your name." She said reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. The tone of their discussion was quite frank, yet there was an underlying tenderness that both recognised in the other even if to the outside world they spoke as though chartering a treaty.

"The world thinks the Clegane's are murderers… both of us. It is not something I would ask of anyone but you because…" He stopped, struggling.

"It is no crime to say it." She laughed, trying to put him at ease. This was not a grand gesture; he was not riding up on a white horse rescuing her. He'd dissolved the horror of a life she could have had already. "I shall not tell anyone that you did so."

"Take it as proof that I love you, there is no other reason I would offer it." He said at last. Andrein rose from her seat and placed herself on his knee, the low chair groaning with the strain. Placing her arms about his neck she kissed the scarred temple and then down to his mouth.

"They must miss those speeches at Kings Landing." She said playfully and her punishment was she found herself lifted and plonked onto her back on the bed, he pinning her wrists down. "Alright! Alright! I surrender! I will!"

All her words were said between peels of laughter, she laughed so hard she was worried they would wake Callan. Sandor crushed his lips to hers but released her hands, his own wandering over her. They clawed at each other as they kissed, Andrein moaning with dissatisfaction that his armour barred his body from her. He pulled his mouth from hers but kept his face close.

"Stop tempting a man who has a duty to fulfill." He growled. Andrein responded by tapping on his armour with one of her knuckles, that playful smile growing ever wider and tempting him beyond belief.

"You've rather done that yourself."

Seizing her hand gently he pulled her up with a small smirk of his own and he placed her in the centre of the room. Then without another word he headed out the door leaving Andrein to stand there full of curiosity. Callan slept on and yet she was forced to utter a shushing sound when Sandor returned dragging with him a murmuring man whose hands were tied behind his back and a bag placed over his head.

Sandor threw the man to the ground, Andrein heard the muffled cry of pain upon impact and she looked confused.

"Who is this?"

"A gift."

"A wedding present?" She laughed, for it was not an action she associated with Sandor.

"A promise." He replied gruffly, his face deadly serious. "Look at him."

Sandor hauled the man to his knees and Andrein carefully came forward and peeled the bag from the man's face. In the glow of the room the man's terrified expression met her with almost shock, he murmured and pleaded against the cloth binding around his mouth. He smelt of urine and desperation and Andrein stepped back from the pungent smell.

"You recognise him?" Sandor asked.

Andrein took a look at him and it all came flooding back, before her was the very sayer who caused all her hardship but inevitably led her to the man she had just agreed to marry. Andrein looked up at Sandor in disbelief, he now wore a proud smile for he had kept both his promises he had made to her that night.

"It's him." She said and almost forgetting the sayer was there, she smiled at Sandor. "You went to Maidenpool?"

"I found your home and I found him with the help of you sister Irelyn."

Andrein's smile broadened at the sound of her sister's name, she walked past the bound sayer who mewled on and she went to her lover.

"How is she?"

"Two children greater… your father is not long here, I'll take you back." He explained. "But I wanted to do this now."

Andrein remembered what she had uttered that night and she looked upon the man whose face was currently away from her. Turning back to Sandor she leant up and kissed him several times until she felt him place the dagger in her hand.

"Thank you." She said touching his face with her free hand. "Take him outside."

Sandor hauled the man outside whilst Andrein lit a small torch and followed. She cautiously went over to Sandor and held out the torch.

"Do you mind?"

"Only for a moment." He said, uneasily taking the torch from her and holding it as far from him as possible.

Andrein moved and stood before the sayer, lowering herself so that she could look into his face. The sayer's eyes were clouded and did not focus on her but the gesture of his head suggested he was listening far more acutely. Andrein stared in horror for a moment as the realisation dawned on her.

"He's blind." She said as she slowly removed the cloth from the sayer's mouth. Pleading immediately fell from his lips, the terrified sort that meant understanding the words grew more and more difficult. "Quiet."

The sayer was silent in an instant and Andrein held the dagger tighter in her hand. Sandor watched in awe at her composed nature, looking upon the man whose idiotic words tore her from her life.

"You will not know my voice." She said speaking to the sayer. "I have been gone a long time."

"Please… whatever… I'll do whatever… please do not…"

"Sssshhh!" She said stroking his head gently like a mother does to soothe a child. Then gripping a tuft of her she yanked his face closer to hers. "I am Aeron Turic's daughter."

The sayer struggled with his fear but he wracked his brains to remember the name, at last it seemed he did.

"Yes! I remember!"

"What did you tell my father?"

"I said… I said…"

Andrein grew impatient and pulled his hair harder whilst she placed the blade painfully close to his throat.

"I said you could not bear a child… he had hoped to marry you well as you were the prettiest but…"

"The rest doesn't matter!" She said coldly and she retracted the blade and brought her face closer, her voice becoming so soft that each syllable that followed terrified the man. It even sent a shiver down Sandor's spine. "My father sold me as a whore because of you. A stranger took me on the cold ground the very same night that he did. The man who brought you here heard me say that I wanted to take your eyes so that you could not see any other such prophecies. But I find you are blind."

"I will not say another thing I swear!" The sayer begged.

"What good is that to me?" She uttered airily, taking to stroking his hair again. "I cannot take your sight now, that is all I wanted."

Another reel of babbling pleas followed, Andrein looked at Sandor and saw him give her a nod to proceed. She could tell he was uncomfortable holding the torch so she must act quickly.

"However then I realised taking your sight would do no good." The sayer began to thank her, she stroked his cheek to quiet him. "But then it is not the eyes that see prophecies is it?"

The sayer slowly shook his head, the blood draining from his face. Andrein smiled to herself, Sandor watched almost in awe, her calculating mind showing its full potential.

"You can still see things can't you?"

"Yes." The sayer nodded.

"Then tell me… how many children have I carried?"

The man closed his eyes and inhaled heavily, his lips trembling.

"Two." He said and she patted his head. "Are you going to kill me?"

Andrein stroked his cheek again.

"No." She whispered. "I never said such a thing, but you see I realised it wasn't what you saw that was the problem, it is what you can say. Here lies the solution."

She pressed the cold blade against his cheek so he understood.

"No please… please…"

Sandor came forward, placing the torch on the floor and held him but Andrein though determined looked at him blankly.

"I do not know how to…" She uttered.

"Will you let me?" Sandor rasped, Andrein nodded and the man began to cry piteously. Andrein used all the adrenaline and resentment towards this man to hold him in place and she handed Sandor the dagger. Yanking back the man's head she patted it again then gave the nod to Sandor.

The sayer's screams permeated the air; it sent the few birds nearby scattering away in the dark. Andrein had stood and watched, her stomach turned at the sights and sounds but her soul soured with vengeance but more so with something else. It was the love of the man who did everything he could, who showed every kindness to her that he could. He said his name was nothing much to give her but after all this time she would wear it proudly and without shame. As she tended their son inside Sandor dragged the sayer away to the woods, leaving his him alone holding his treacherous tongue.

As he returned Andrein threw herself into Sandor's arms and held him like a vice, he returned the embrace and was overcome with every emotion he never thought possible. This was the end of the road for Sandor Clegane and his lover Andrein Turic, for now she would shake off her name and take his. He thought little of it himself yet to see the one he loved wear it and their son too was more than he ever dared ask for. Every being has the ability to love and he did so, he burned with it but to at last have a return for his own species of kindness and barbarity overwhelmed him. They kissed fiercely but then he held her away from him looking her in the eyes, their violet brilliance entrancing him as always.

"I am yours forever." He uttered vehemently, his hands holding her face. Andrein smiled it and she nodded her own return.

"Until death comes." She smiled.

He kissed her again, more teasingly this time and they shared a knowing laugh.

"Now woman, get me out of this armour!"


End file.
